


The Gods Must Be Crazy

by FluffiestMarshmallow



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Background Relationships, Curse Breaking, Dark Magic, Dark Mark (Harry Potter), Draco isn’t suddenly a saint, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Lots of Angst, Magical Ritual, Marriage of Convenience, Married Life, Not a creature or Veela fic, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Slow Burn, Soul Binding, fluff still to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:28:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 58,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21562243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffiestMarshmallow/pseuds/FluffiestMarshmallow
Summary: Lady Narcissa Malfoy makes Hermione Granger a proposition: save her son, and change the world... But, how does Hermione even begin to save a wizard who just wants to be left alone?What is wrong with Draco Malfoy, and why does Hermione have to marry him to save his life? Dark magic and mysterious curses are the least of her problems as she prepares to take control of the Wizangamot whilst infiltrating the inner circles of Pureblood society.21/12/2020 - Currently being rewritten
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 369
Kudos: 669





	1. An unexpected guest

Staring blankly at the pile of parchment stacked before her, Hermione had long since disregarded what was happening around her. After the final verdict had been read, the Wizangamot chamber had disappeared into a blurred and distorted haze as her mind repeated the events of the morning. Over and over, she had recounted every detail, her hands clenching until her knuckles turned white from constriction.

She had lost.

At length, the remaining Wizangamot members began to shuffle through the many rows of benches; a few of them stealing pitiful glances at the sight of her defeated expression; though, they didn't care—not really. If they did, the morning would have turned out differently.

Again, their votes had been cast in favour of outdated research and archaic reasoning. If Hermione weren't feeling so broken, she may have laughed at the predictability of it all. But her mouth felt painfully dry, and she feared any sound she made would emerge as a sob, instead.

Another appeal rejected.

Another prejudiced law she had failed to abolish.

In truth, she had known it was foolish to think this time would be any different. After nearly six months working within the Department of Magical Law enforcement, and more than four years employed within the Ministry itself, she had achieved little progress to show for it.  
  
It was as if nothing had changed at all. 

Straight out of Hogwarts, with record breaking NEWT scores and esteemed recommendations, she had quickly put her mind to work with the hope of improving the rights of magical creatures and beings. But it was not to be. They were right; they had told her this would happen; defeating Voldemort was nothing compared to the corruption of the Ministry. 

"Better luck next time, Granger." A quiet voice sounded next to her, pulling her from her reverie. 

Looking up at the solemn expression of Percy Weasley, Hermione attempted a weak smile.

"I had thought it would be a sure vote," Percy continued. "That law is almost three-hundred years old. Why they would think muggleborns still need to declare their residency—and those of their muggle families—is absurd. No wonder the Ministry had such an easy time persecuting people during the war." 

Still numb with disappointment, she nodded absently in reply. 

"You just need to find a different angle to approach these laws with. Get their attention somehow, you know."

"Thanks Percy," Hermione sighed, "I'll keep that in mind."

Rising from the bench, she gathered her notes and and moved towards the exit, easily slipping past the many elderly witches and wizards still mulling around and talking about the session. 

"—Giving muggleborns such freedom, it's dangerous, if you ask me."

"—Quite right. It’s only a matter of time before one of them exposes us to the muggles. There's a limit to what the Ministry is able to repair; it’s why these laws were created in the first place.”

A chorus of muffled agreement quickly followed.

—“Indeed, indeed... Constant supervision, that's what muggleborns need."

Hermione stiffened, her brow pulling together tightly as she glared in the direction of the huddled Wizangamot crowd.  
  
Nothing. 

They gave not even a single acknowledgement of having seen her. Her opinion, not matter where or what, seemed to always fall short of their regard. 

Shaking her head in exasperation, the hexes brimming upon the tip of her tongue stilled against the pursed line of her lips as she made her way down the corridor once more. Though, with her anger giving way to a deeper emotion, and the hushed voices slowly fading behind her, she struggled to fight back the tears welling within her eyes.

If only there was a way to make them listen.

* * *

The remainder of the day ticked by slowly as Hermione tediously made notes and referenced the various sources of evidence she would need in support of her latest appeal. Hardened with a resolve borne from failure, she had wasted no time in resuming her efforts. It was already nearing noon when her concentration was disrupted by a hesitant knock on her office door.

“Yes?” She called out, not bothering to look up from the page she was currently reading.

The door cracked open and Marissa, her assistant, nervously poked her head through the small gap. “You have um—There’s a—well, Lady Malfoy is here to see you, Miss Granger.” Marissa stumbled over the words quickly in her flustered state. 

Hermione’s head snapped up.

Blinking, she felt the colour slowly drain from her face. The Malfoy’s hadn’t interfered within the Ministry for years; whatever the reason for Lady Malfoy’s visit, it couldn’t be good. 

“What?” Hermione breathed, fumbling nervously with the various pages before laying them down on the desk with a smoothing swipe of her hand. “Tell her... ah, no. Please kindly explain to _Lady_ Malfoy that I have no time for complaints today. She will have to make an appointment with the Department for the Regulation of Magical Creatures. Although I helped create the House-elf Regulation Act, I no longer work there and cannot be of assistance.”

Marissa nodded slowly in understanding before ducking back out to inform Lady Malfoy.

To be expected, barely a handful of moments had passed when a knock sounded once more. Meeting Hermione’s expectant gaze, Marissa hesitated, unnerved by her previous interaction with the pureblood witch. 

“Lady Malfoy insists,” she squeaked. “She won’t leave until you see her.” 

Hermione’s eyes narrowed perceptively.“Very well,” she answered calmly. “Send _Lady_ Malfoy in.”

Looking relieved that she wouldn’t have to deny Lady Malfoy a second time, Marissa retreated to escort the unexpected guest towards the office. Quickly reorganising her desk, and conjuring a simple chair, Hermione braced herself as she called out for Lady Malfoy to enter.

Holding her head up with as much confidence she could muster, she watched as the door slowly opened, revealing the very witch whom she hadn’t laid eyes upon in over five years. In fact, Hermione hadn’t seen any of the Malfoys since the Death Eater trials conducted shortly after the war. Now, Narcissa stood proudly within the doorframe to Hermione’s office, her aura of superiority distinctly noticeable. 

“Good afternoon, Miss Granger,” Narcissa greeted evenly, her pointed heels clicking conspicuously against the floor as she stepped into the small office. 

Hermione, who had stood politely upon Narcissa’s greeting, privately acknowledged that Lady Malfoy looked very out of place within the lower levels of the DMLE. Admittedly, she couldn’t help but gape at the immaculately groomed witch before her. Narcissa’s silken black designer robes and ornate jewellery set her apart from everyone who walked the halls of the Ministry—even those in the highest of positions.

With a tight lipped smile, Narcissa gazed around Hermione’s dishevelled office—her brow raising slightly at the sight of the many stacks of folders and parchment which covered nearly every surface. Stepping closer, Narcissa extended her slender, gloved arm towards Hermione. “Please, do sit down. I understand that my presence was not expected,” she chimed, gesturing to Hermione’s own chair.

Hermione grit her teeth, but said nothing. Only _Lady_ _Malfoy_ would ask someone to take a seat in their own office. Quietly resuming her usual position behind her desk, she merely observed as Narcissa glanced warily towards the small chair that had been conjured for her use. After what seemed like an endless moment, being careful to sit upon only the edge of the seat, Narcissa settled across from Hermione, crossing her legs daintily as she did so. 

Somewhat relieved at the calm demure of witch before her, Hermione was determined to get this over with.

“Good afternoon, Lady Malfoy,” she greeted, at last. 

Narcissa’s smile wavered slightly at the clipped edge in Hermione’s words. 

“You must be wondering why I have decided to visit the Ministry today?” Narcissa began evenly, seemingly unperturbed. “I have come to ask for your help with a very delicate matter regarding my family.”

With a reluctant sigh, Hermione sat up straighter.

“The House-elf regulation laws were first enforced two years ago. I am no longer in a position to hear complaints, Lady Malfoy,” she admonished. “I apologise if you are here to seek immediate clarification on the matter; you’ll find that the Ministry rarely works efficiently at the best of times—for _anyone_.”

Narcissa’s piercing gaze widened fractionally, though, without falter, she replied with a politeness Hermione could only be impressed by. “Thank you for your... _concern_ , Miss Granger. However, I am here on a much more _personal_ matter. I have no complaints with the Ministry— _today_.”

“You’re not here to contest against the House-elf regulations?”

“I understand you have received much animosity in the past few years regarding your work.” 

“Yes, I have.” 

Narcissa hummed in acknowledgement. “It is a pity the _House-Elf Regulation Act_ is your only accomplishment, Miss Granger. Even for someone of your... birth, I am surprised you didn’t aim... higher.” 

Hermione blinked in surprise, uncertain as to whether Narcissa had intended to compliment or ridicule her. Refusing to comment, she simply waited for Narcissa to get to the point of her visit. 

“Such a pity,” Narcissa repeated, her gaze lingering on Hermione’s hair for a moment too long. “Should I summon for some tea? Rest assured, the Malfoy house-elves are fairly compensated, these days.”   
  
Barely refraining from rolling her eyes, Hermione pressed, “what is it you need of me, Lady Malfoy?” 

“Very well then. I shall be direct with you, Miss Granger. I acknowledge that these circumstances are quite unprecedented, though, one can hardly proceed normally with such matters, given your _unfortunate_ lack of... a _magical_ family to represent you.”

”Excuse me. What has tha—”

”I have come to proposition you, Miss Granger.” Narcissa interjected, her face devoid of emotion. “Speaking plainly, I intend for you to wed my son.”

“What! Wed your son?” Hermione spluttered in a very un-ladylike manner. It was fair to say she had been instantly rendered into a state of shock.

Having forgotten how to breathe properly, Hermione continued to stare in mute horror at the poised witch before her. Was this a joke? One of George’s indelicate attempts at a prank, once again? Maybe, she should check Lady Malfoy for spell damage?

“You must be mistaken,” Hermione insisted, still wheezing slightly from a lack of breath.

“My son, Miss Granger,” Narcissa declared, pointedly ignoring Hermione’s bewildered reaction. “He needs your help. My _family_ needs your help. Of course, we shall have to discuss the details of a marriage contract accordingly—you’ll find it necessary due to the binding ritual which will need to be performed.” 

Far too gracefully, Narcissa brandished her wand, and in a quick, intricate movement, produced a thick stack of parchment out of thin air. With another flick of her wand, the numerous folders and pages adorning Hermione’s desk neatly stacked themselves up high before levitating towards the ‘rejection’ corner of the office—depositing themselves on the floor with an audible huff of paper and dust.

Hermione snapped out of her stupor upon hearing the echoing sound of her life’s work hitting the floor. Glaring momentarily at the conjured stack of parchment—which now solely sat on the desk before her—she looked up to meet the gaze of a very pleased looking Lady Malfoy. 

“No.” she replied firmly, finding her voice at last.

Narcissa’s feigned politeness dropped entirely, her posture stiffening dangerously as she took in Hermione’s disgust at the sight of the Malfoy family crest adorning the parchment.

“No? don’t be absurd _girl_. This is a wonderful opportunity. I understand you have neither the breeding nor background for such a contract however, that can all be amended... mostly.” Narcissa bristled, her nose turning up slightly as she spoke. 

“I care nothing for your son.” Hermione snapped, trying to remain calm as she pushed the stack of parchment across the desk. “You can keep this; I have no need for it. I know what it is.” 

“Naturally...” Narcissa leveled her with a particularly cold stare. “You will notice that this contract is a _traditional_ marriage proposal contract. You will only need to read through it to realise that _feelings_ hold little regard within the progression of such a noble house.”

Hermione gawked at Narcissa once more. It was a _traditional_ marriage proposal contract that Lady Malfoy had conjured? Why would the Malfoys ever present _her_ with something so... so...

Swallowing Nervously at the thought, Hermione glanced back and forth between the leering stack of parchment— _the marriage contract—_ and Narcissa’s unrevealing expression. Ready to protest against the whole ordeal, Hermione found herself reaching for her wand when she realised what it was Narcissa had said.

“You didn’t come here for me to sign this,” Hermione mumbled, then said louder and more clearly, “you said that you needed me to help your son. You think me marrying him will help him, somehow.”

Lady Malfoy’s eyes were her only betrayal of her reaction to Hermione’s statement.

“Yes. Though, I think the details of my son’s... _condition_ , are hardly appropriate before the terms of marriage are discussed and signed; the personal lives of my family are a delicate matter amongst those with no care for the importance of reputations.”

“I do not wish to marry your son, Lady Malfoy.” Hermione sighed. “But, I still might be able to help him.”

Narcissa’s humourless laugh echoed within the small space. “Surely, one such as yourself should be grateful for an opportunity to marry into such obvious wealth and status?” Clearing her throat, the tight curve of her smile reappeared. “Miss Granger, this is the only offer of this nature you’re likely to ever receive.”

“I don’t care. I don’t for your family’s gold—nor your family’s _reputation_.” 

Scoffing loudly, Narcissa regarded Hermione with mounting disapproval. “One would think a mudbl— _muggleborn_ would appreciate the value of an opening to dabble in the areas of society still so... _inaccessible_ to your... _sort_.”

“No.” 

“You would dare to still refuse? Such insolence—” 

“Lady Malfoy,” Hermione said, a notable fieriness seeping into her voice. “My _sort_ have access to many aspects of society, revolutionary academia, and sciences—which many in the wizarding world wouldn’t even dare to imagine were possible.”

Narcissa smirked, her nose tilting just so. 

“You have an admirable passion for the weak, Miss Granger. Though, it would do you well to remember the world which you have _chosen_ to be a part of... Such thoughts of muggle advancements will serve you little purpose in your Ministry work.”

“There is much Ministry could learn from the muggle world.”

“Tut, tut. I see that I have caught a nerve.” Narcissa’s smirk grew wider. “Not so fortunate within the Ministry after all, are you, _dearie?_ And yet, you denied my offer so carelessly...”

“Your offer means nothing to me. You, and your family, have nothing I could ever need or want—least of all, your son.”

Narcissa disregarded Hermione’s words with a slight wave of her hand.

“I may understand why such a dull _girl_ would have little thought for opulence and comfort, though, I cannot fathom why a career orientated witch, such as yourself, would pass the opportunity to wield influence over the Wizangamot and the circles its members move in. Surely, what I am offering has at least made its appeal in that regard?”

The corners of Hermione’s mouth twitched, softening her scowl. 

Such an old, pureblood name would undoubtably require the Wizangamot members, even those who were still prejudiced, to consider the appeal of a muggleborn witch.

“I’ll admit that the Malfoy _political influences_ and connections are the only _favourable_ qualities which your offer presents,” Hermione uttered reluctantly. 

Narcissa hummed knowingly. “Indeed.”

“But, why not ask another witch—a more _suitable_ witch?” Hermione pried, her mind now reeling with all the possibilities. _Would she be able to sacrifice her own happiness in life for the betterment of countless others?_ She wondered. However, the actual prospect of marrying Draco Malfoy quickly halted all thoughts of heroism.

“There were a _few_ witches whom I deemed _acceptable_.” Narcissa admitted solemnly. “Unfortunately, most of the candidates were already committed to a partner, and the rest proved unacceptable in both character and magical proficiency to succeed with such a task.” 

“I fail to understand the necessity for such a prerequisite. What is it that your son needs saving from? Have you not sought alternate guidance? I do not believe you would actually want for _me_ to marry the sole heir to the Malfoy line?”

“Miss Granger.” Narcissa paled, seemingly discomforted at having to repeatedly explain herself. “I would not ask you unless you were the last option—the last chance that I had to get my son back. To restore the most Noble House of Malfoy and save the last true male heir of the Ancient House of Black, understand that I must do _anything_.”   
  
Hermione nodded, choosing to ignore Narcissa’s continuous, subtle insults. She wanted more answers.

“But saved from what?”

“That is not for me to say. I had thought that such a prestigious marriage prospect, would have been enough to entice _your_ help.”

“But, I’m a muggleborn. You must acknowledge the many complications which would undoubtably arise.” Hermione challenged. “Even if I _were_ to agree to such a ridiculous notion for my own benefit, your son would be as equally miserable as myself.” 

“My son knows the importance of furthering the Malfoy bloodline. It is true that your blood is... _unfavourable_. Nevertheless, the Malfoy line has been known to discreetly mix with those of _lesser_ blood in the past for the sake of prosperity... Do you know anything pertaining to the history of Malfoy and muggle relations before the statute of secrecy was enforced? I do believe that you would find your discoveries most... interesting.” Narcissa countered with an air of nonchalance.

“Draco willingly agreed to this?” Hermione gaped in disbelief, leaning back in her chair. This was turning out to be very complicated.“I did not realise his situation was so severe.”

“My son does not know that I’m here. He... well, he has asked me to let him die.”

“He’s willingly dying!” Hermione gasped incredulously. “Does he not believe that he can be saved?”

“He understands that there are no witches with the ability to save him, Miss Granger.”

“Except me, or so you would have me believe it to be thus.”

 _How ironic,_ Hermione thought. _The same mudblood he so enjoyed to tease, supposedly held his life within her hands—and he didn’t even know..._

“Your talents are not to be doubted, Miss Granger. I assure you, my proposal is not only one of great need, but is also the utmost of compliments regarding both your magical proficiency and perhaps _some_ of your character.”

“Why now?” Hermione asked sharply. Noting Narcissa’s suddenly confused expression, she pressed on. “Why go against your own beliefs at your son’s expense? Considering your family’s _recent history_... I find it questionable that you would only _now_ put aside your prejudices when there is no other choice. This isn’t the first time that your son’s life has been in danger—though I do acknowledge your part in Voldemort’s defeat—why should I help you, when you have given me no other reason to believe your family worthy of such a kindness when his life was threatened before?” 

Narcissa flinched at Hermione’s blunt words.

“An understandable question, Miss Granger.”

Hermione waited, interested to hear what Narcissa would say. From experience, she knew that many of Voldemort’s previous supporters held little accountability or recognition for their past actions. 

“I was raised to follow orders despite my own convictions. It was only when my son was threatened during the war, that I realised how important it was to protect those you loved, no matter what is expected of you.” Narcissa paused, her voice lowering. “You are an intelligent witch, Miss Granger. I am sure that you are able to acknowledge the many influences of one’s upbringing?” 

Hermione gave a hesitant nod. 

Swallowing audibly, Narcissa continued, her voice now choked with emotion.“My son, Draco, he is my one accomplishment. As a girl, I was raised with the knowledge of my only purpose being to further the line of my own noble house as well as the distinguished house of my husband. I have taken pride in my family and in my house—for all of my life. I have fought for it when a dark wizard led me to believe it was threatened. I have betrayed for it against the same dark wizard who suddenly sought to harm it. Now, the family I knew as a young girl have all gone; The Ancient House of Black is a distant memory, and the Noble House of Malfoy is doomed to follow. I cling to each final day with my son, knowing that I have failed my purpose many times: as a wife, as a follower, as a witch... but not as a mother, not yet. Please, I beseech you, Miss Granger, spare my son. Spare my only boy whom so much of wizarding culture rests upon. He does not deserve the fate his parents have bestowed upon him.”

Having not expected such a raw outburst of emotion from the previously demure witch in front of her, Hermione stared at Narcissa in awe. Shifting in her seat, she felt her heart stutter with the thought of what she would need to do—what she would need to say. 

Though, she would bet on Merlin’s beard that Narcissa would not approve of what she was about to say either...

With one last glance towards Narcissa, who now sat delicately patting her face with a silk handkerchief, Hermione made her decision. 

“I would like to speak to Draco.” 


	2. Sanity, and other questionable things

Narcissa had left with the promise that an owl would soon be delivering the appropriate details regarding Hermione’s audience with Draco Malfoy.   
  
Relieved that Narcissa hadn’t insisted on her immediate accompaniment to Malfoy Manor, Hermione released the breath that she had been holding since requesting to speak to Draco.

Thank Merlin for Pureblood etiquette when you needed it. 

It had all happened so fast though. Things like this didn’t just happen. They simply couldn’t. It was barely plausible that Lady Malfoy had visited for less than an hour and yet, every semblance of order and rationality within Hermione’s life had suddenly descended into chaos. 

Her head was spinning. _Why had she asked to meet with Draco?_

Maybe, if she owled Lady Malfoy a polite refusal regarding her new change of mind, she would be able to forget the whole situation and continue as she was before—drowning in Wizangamot refusals. 

Groaning in defeat, Hermione sunk further into her chair. 

No, she couldn’t back out of meeting him until she had more answers; what if she truly was the only one able to help him? If she did nothing, how would she feel if Draco Malfoy’s obituary graced the cover of the Daily Prophet in a few months’ time? She had to be able to say that she had tried—at least, that is what she told herself. Admittedly, she was definitely curious as to what had happened to Draco Malfoy since she had last seen him... 

She had concluded that he was either under a life-threatening curse, or that he was irreversibly bound to an ancient familial contract that required a skilled witch to perform some pretty complex spell-work—which would at least explain the requisite for her to have marry the insufferable wizard.

Nothing she came up with on her own, made any sense. She had never heard of someone needing to be magically bonded in order save their life. That area of magic must be particularly dark if it required such a price.

_The library. She needed to go to the library..._

Since she had first entered the wizarding world, Hermione had sought constant refuge amidst the many tomes, books and scrolls of every magical library at her disposal. Unsurprisingly, her relentless need for answers and explanations regarding the complex new world that she had been thrust into, had proven both gratifying and illuminating in every situation. 

Though, where would she start with such limited clues? This was like the ‘chamber of secrets’ all over again: equally mysterious and equally petrifying. 

Making up her mind and summoning a quill, a hastily scribbled memo was soon zooming out of her office towards the Auror department. 

Shooting a glare at the ominous stack of white parchment which Lady Malfoy had so _kindly_ left on her desk, Hermione huffed in annoyance for the countless time that afternoon. Resignedly, she reached out to pick up the Malfoy marriage proposal contract—knowing that it was probably the best place start to find information regarding Draco’s predicament. 

She needed to know what was wrong with Draco Malfoy. 

She needed to speak to Harry and Ron.   
  
  


* * *

It was nearing dinnertime by the time Hermione had managed to leave the Ministry.

Apparating directly to the Diagon Alley apparition point, she walked the short distance to the Leaky Cauldron. As she made her way to the door, her gaze swept over the many magical shops lining the alley, all of them already closed for the day. 

_And the most stressful part to her day had only just begun..._

In the memo—the hasty one that she had sent earlier—she had simply expressed her wish to meet with both Harry and Ron urgently after work in order to discuss an important matter. Knowing that both her friends would be there before her, Hermione plucked up her courage and entered the pub.

Walking into the Leaky Cauldron, never ceased to be an interesting experience. The smell of freshly baked steak pies and warm Butterbeer contrasted heavily with the ever-present odour of dusty floorboards and numerous patrons. 

Unlike the alley, the pub was packed with wizards and witches happily toasting the end of a long, hard day over warm plates of food. With a quick scan around the crowded dining area, Hermione caught sight of Harry sitting happily at one of the tables in the opposite corner. 

Squeezing her way through the rush of patrons, Hermione reached the table just as Ron appeared. He was carrying three large butterbeers with both hands and with a loud plonk, he sloshed them messily down upon the table before turning and grinning widely at the sight of Hermione’s arrival. 

“Mione!” Ron exclaimed, wrapping his arm around her cheerfully.

Ron and Hermione had attempted dating throughout her return to Hogwarts after the war. Although, between Ron’s Auror training, her NEWT studies and the inevitable realisation that teenage crushes rarely work out... the trepid, romantic relationship between them had quickly crumbled.

It had been an awkward few months for the both of them. They had been left to constantly choose who got to meet with Harry in solitude, whilst still trying to rebuild the same friendship they had enjoyed before the romantic split. 

Luckily, it hadn’t taken much longer for both Hermione and Ron to find a comforting normality within their new career routines and post-Hogwarts lives. Before they knew it, the three of them were the easiest of friends once more; happily stepping back into the familiarity of mutual support and comfort that their close friendship had provided over the many years. 

“Ron! Harry!” She greeted them excitedly. It was always good to see them after a hard day at the Ministry.

The three friends huddled together around the corner table, each of them grabbing one of the now sticky mugs of Butterbeer before catching one another up on the events of their day.

Hermione listened happily as Ron and Harry animatedly recounted a rather humorous tale about a wizard whom they had temporarily detained earlier that afternoon. The wizard had apparently tried to sell enchanted vegetable peelers that unfortunately turned onto the users themselves, peeling their clothes instead. 

Many irate witches and wizards had demanded that the wizard be detained and tried for assault; However, Harry and Ron had been required to transfer the case over to the Department for the Improper Use of Magic. Although, much to their delight, they had still been able to enjoy the chaotic spectacle of very disheveled and hastily dressed witches and wizards clambering into the DMLE just before lunchtime. 

Both Ron and Harry laughed loudly at the expression on Hermione’s face as they informed her that the same wizard had been planning on expanding his business into a whole magical household appliance line. 

It seemed that every department in the Ministry had their hands full these days...

A few Butterbeers later, and she was practically squirming with apprehension. She knew that she would have to tell them about Narcissa’s proposition soon. Already, both Harry and Ron had pried for information about her ‘important matter,’ but Hermione had simply dismissed their concerns, stating that she would rather hear about their day first. 

Now, she was running out of time.

Lifting her wand inconspicuously, she non-verbally cast a ‘ _muffliato_ ’ around their table, immediately capturing both Ron and Harry’s undivided attention. 

“Narcissa Malfoy came to see me today.” She stated casually, trying to focus on the half-full mug of Butterbeer in her hand.

Ron and Harry remained silent; observing Hermione’s agitated posture, they exchanged confused glances with one another. 

Hermione sighed deeply. The extended chaos of Narcissa’s visit had officially begun. 

“Oh, come on Hermione.” Harry spoke, breaching the tense mood hovering around them. “When are you going to start jinxing those stiff and pompous up-to-no-goods out of your office?” 

“Yeah, Mione.” Ron agreed. “Tell ‘em you’re closed for business. You don’t work for the Regulation of Magical Creatures anymore... don’t entertain their tantrums.” 

She smiled at their reactions. This was not the first time that they had defended her against the backlash towards the House-elf regulations. 

“She came to see me about Malfoy.” Hermione reiterated, helplessly watching as Harry’s face suddenly froze and Ron sprayed a mouthful of butterbeer all over the table. 

Choking loudly and sporting a face as red as his hair, Ron bashed his chest with his fist in an attempt to alleviate the convulsions. 

“Honestly, Ronald.” Hermione chastised, vanishing the mess with a swish of her wand. 

“ _Malfoy_?” Harry asked when Ron had finally quietened. “What’s up with Malfoy?”

Reassuring that her Muffliato was still in place, she leant forward over the table and whispered dramatically. “He’s dying.”  
  
Ron and Harry both gaped in shock at her revelation. 

“What? Why?” they each sputtered simultaneously.

“I don’t know... But, I suspect it’s something to do with dark magic; Narcissa mentioned it being the fault of both herself and Lucius Malfoy.” Taking a breath, Hermione nervously added. “She asked me to save him.” 

“Why would you save that prat?” Ron questioned. “No offense, Hermione—you’re brilliant, but why you?” 

Harry nodded, seemingly agreeing with Ron’s line of thought. 

With a resigned sigh, she proceeded to tell Ron and Harry all that Narcissa Malfoy had said to her that afternoon.

* * *

“Come off it, Hermione... she appealed to your Gryffindor side! She knows you have a weakness for meek and endangered species. That lady Malfoy sure does earn her green and silver colours by portraying her sad excuse of a son as a new cause for you to save.” 

Hermione scoffed at Ron’s choice of words. “Narcissa Malfoy is a grieving mother. She is not trying to _manipulate_ me with the thought of her son’s demise.” 

Harry smirked into his mug, hiding his reaction as Ron simply laughed heartily.

“She has you fooled already, Mione.” Ron chortled, loudly gulping down half the contents of his butterbeer in one go before setting the mug down with a self-satisfied grin. 

“Malfoy has neither been innocent nor meek since before we met him. There’s no way that he would just step back and let some _mysterious_ magic do him in.” Harry explained, attempting to diffuse the tension as Hermione glared at an otherwise oblivious Ron. “Lady Malfoy is simply being dramatic. She’s probably still traumatised from nearly losing her son and husband in the war... Of course she’s going to be paranoid if there’s even the _slightest_ chance of losing her _precious little boy_ again.” 

“Yeah, Hermione.” Ron nodded animatedly. “Malfoy’s probably got every curse breaker working ‘round the clock for him. You shouldn’t even waste your time thinking about it.”

Hermione fiddled anxiously with her mug. Staring at the table with a frown, she contemplated Narcissa’s tactics of persuasion. 

It was startlingly obvious that after Lady Malfoy had realised wealth and status wouldn’t sway her, Narcissa’s approach had taken a more _humanitarian_ stance. She now wondered if those had even been real tears; truthfully, she had never seen a _proper_ pureblood lady ‘lower herself’ to cry in public before.

Maybe she had been manipulated by a Slytherin after all. 

“Don’t worry, Hermione... it happens to the best of us.” Harry grinned at her playfully. “So, what did she say when you refused her plea and told her exactly what Malfoy could do with the pointy end of his wand?” 

Hermione stilled immediately, ducking her head as she nervously avoided both Harry and Ron’s overly suspicious gazes.

Damn their Auror training, they could read her like a book. 

“You did tell her no, didn’t you, Hermione?” Harry looked at her pointedly. She could clearly recognise the panic settling within his expression as she hesitated to answer. 

She suddenly wished that she had never bothered going into work that morning. Maybe she could ask Harry to obliviate her? That would solve her problem about feeling guilty upon seeing Malfoy’s obituary in the Daily Prophet...

Shaking her head in self admonishment, Hermione lifted her nervous gaze towards the two extremely shocked faces across from her. 

“YOU SAID YES?!” Harry shouted, drawing the attention of a few patrons nearby. Not even the muffliato charm could mask his outburst.

“N–no.” She stuttered frantically as once again Ron began to turn bright red from his neck to his ears. “I told her that I would speak to Draco first.” 

“Speak to _Draco_? To _Draco_?” Ron bristled heatedly, finally finding the ability to breathe after Hermione’s previous confession. “On first name basis already? You sure do move fast these days.”

“Yes, _Draco_ Malfoy—the wizard I’ve been asked to save” Hermione whispered scathingly, fighting back the bubbling shame; she knew that they were only reacting strongly due to their concern. Though, telling Harry and Ron was becoming increasingly harder than she had expected. 

“You mean the git you’re going to sacrifice yourself for? Catering to the whims of purebloods who see you as nothing more than a useful object at their disposal is not heroic, Hermione.” 

“Ronald Weasley!” She bristled, appalled that he had stooped so low. “I know my worth! You will remember that I haven’t said yes.”   
  
Ron frowned angrily, yet remained quiet as Hermione continued.

“I wanted to speak to Malfoy before I gave any thought to helping him. I wouldn’t think to say yes unless I knew that it’s for a good cause—for a _good_ person.” 

Ron snorted loudly. “Malfoy, _good_?”

“You’ve lost your mind, Hermione.” Harry teased. “You don’t honestly think that Malfoy could have changed so much only five years after the war? Just because he was too much of a coward, doesn’t mean that he didn’t believe in what he was set out to do.” 

She took a sip of her Butterbeer. 

“I have to know if Narcissa is right about him dying. If he has changed... if there’s a chance... don’t you see how it would benefit the lives of all muggleborns in the future? The heir of the most influential and proud wizarding family—marrying a _muggleborn_.” she emphasised her last words by gesturing to herself. 

Ron and Harry’s eyes both widened at Hermione’s admission. They hadn’t thought she would actually take Narcissa’s proposition _this_ seriously.

”So you might say yes?” Harry whispered, his breath hitching as he struggled to comprehend his own conflicting emotions. “I don’t understand why you would even consider helping him. Why throw away your life for his? No one would fault you for refusing to help him, no matter the... _consequences_.”   
  
Hermione smiled sadly at Harry’s statement. He of all people knew what it felt like to have such a responsibility placed on you. It wasn’t that long ago when he had made the choice to sacrifice himself and walk into the Forbidden Forest alone...

”You know that Voldemort’s defeat did little to change the prejudiced systems and public opinions already in place throughout wizarding Britain. This could finally change everything—everything I’ve been fighting for since I turned eleven.” 

It was a painful truth that after the war had ended, many wizards and witches still retained and believed in the years of propaganda and indoctrination imposed from nearly a century of continuous darkness; firstly as a result of Grindewald, followed by Voldemort’s increased manipulation for decades after.

Each generation of witches and wizards had slowly been led to believe in at least some aspects, if not all, of the unfounded bias towards muggles and muggleborns in particular. Even Ron had apprehensions towards muggles—though, tales of Harry’s Aunt and Uncle probably hadn’t helped in that regard.

The ministry did what they could. However, it wasn’t as if they could throw everyone who disliked or feared muggleborns and muggles into Azkaban prison.

Healing took time, they all knew that. 

Harry leant across the table, taking Hermione’s hands within his own, he gave her hands a small squeeze in acknowledgement. 

She knew that they did not agree with her reasoning, though they would still try to understand her decision none the less. 

“Well, Mione.” Ron joked, downing the remnants of his butterbeer. “If you _are_ idiotic enough to actually _marry_ the slimy git... at least remember to spend lots of his shiny galleons on our Christmas presents, yeah?” 

All three friends laughed heartily, grateful for the break in tension. 

Now, Hermione simply had to wait.

All would hopefully soon be revealed.

* * *

  
“Good morning.” Hermione greeted Marissa as she approached the reception desk outside of her office.

“Morning, Miss Granger.” Marissa replied cheerfully. 

At least one of them had gotten ample sleep the night before, Hermione thought. 

After a few more rounds of Butterbeers and numerous hilarious tales told on behalf of Harry and Ron, the three friends had said their goodbyes and left the Leaky Cauldron to return to their respective homes. 

Hermione, however, couldn’t sleep. 

After scouring through every book in her apartment that referenced curses, magical contracts and dark magic, Hermione had promptly resigned herself to a restless night of wakefulness. Lying in bed: Her mind had proceeded to meticulously replay every detail, every word and every interaction of Narcissa Malfoy’s visit. 

Nothing significant stood out to her. 

Hours of pouring over various texts had left her more confused than before.

Lady Malfoy had barely relayed enough details to narrow down the search to a single category of books... though, she was quite confident that dark magic was involved.

The few instances of magical bindings rarely threatened the lives of the individuals involved—at least, not _before_ the binding took place.

Hermione had then wondered if it had something to do with Malfoy being the sole heir to two prominent wizarding houses; Narcissa _had_ mentioned that his condition was the fault of both herself and Lucius. Familial contracts, familial curses... the possibilities were endless.

There were many cases of pureblood heirs _mysteriously_ falling ill...

Indeed, there were a few inhumane, yet popular, pureblood familial requisites for their heirs. Blood magic was often involved in ensuring the harshly stipulated terms were met: fertility, magical ability—Merlin forbid if any of the pureblood scions were squibs—age, and even gender, were often taken into account when bequeathing magical estates. 

However, all this had little semblance to Draco’s imminent death and need for a magically gifted witch. Besides, Malfoy was still very young and there was no reason that _she_ would be the only witch whom he could match with...

Entering her Office, Hermione set about re-reading the Muggleborn Restriction Act file from the day before.

The previous afternoon had proven disastrous with regards to her concentration and today was already proving to be equally vexing. 

To make matters worse, the Malfoy marriage proposal contract had provided nothing of value to Hermione’s questions. Although the contract itself had been amended to reflect both herself and _Draco Lucius Malfoy_ ; frustratingly, everything else had merely been regurgitated clauses that were probably centuries old. 

To her shock, the marriage contract had indeed contained nothing resembling a traditional marriage of romantic notions. The contract—which should have been called ‘ _the Malfoy business proposal contract’_ —was solely designed to negotiate and ensure the most prosperous union possible between the two families involved. Gold, assets and investments took clear preference over if the couple even _liked_ one another. 

The only reason Narcissa Malfoy had left the contract on Hermione’s desk, as she had soon discovered, was that it contained a detailed audit of every valuable item within the Malfoy’s possession. With disgust, she had nearly closed the contract at that point—until she saw that ancient books and scrolls were considered valuable items too.

Hermione had barely contained her awe at the lists of works and rare titles held within their possession. She wondered if she would ever be able to get her hands on even _some_ of the items within the Malfoy Library…

A knock on the door broke her out of her wistful musings. Before she could answer, the door opened to reveal a rather flushed looking Marissa: holding an extravagant, white envelope out before her. 

Rising from her desk, Hermione reached for the letter with a nod of dismissal.

Marissa had seemed at an unusual loss for words today. Lady Malfoy had definitely frightened the poor girl the day before. Her once talkative assistant, had now been reduced to the timid nature of a house-elf at even the mere sight of a letter. 

Regarding the envelope before her with narrowed eyes, she noticed the elegant script addressed the letter to a ‘ _Miss Hermione Jean Granger’_ ; turning it over, the underside revealed an intricate, black wax seal baring the Malfoy family crest. 

“Of course, it’s black.” she murmured to herself. 

Breaking the seal, Hermione briefly admired the thick and luxurious paper between her fingers before scanning the contents of Lady Malfoy’s correspondence. 

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_I am most pleased to invite you into my home this evening.  
_   
_I trust that you shall find your visit most informative._

_Your presence will be expected at seven o’ clock._

_Regards,_

  
_Lady N. Black Malfoy_

Hermione gripped the letter tightly in her hand. Once again, _Lady_ Malfoy had failed to extend her even the most basic of courtesies. The ‘invitation’ was no less an invitation but rather a demand for attendance. 

Recovering from her irritation, Hermione startled perceptively; the significance of what the letter meant had finally registered within her sleep deprived mind.   
  
She was going to meet with Draco Malfoy tonight!

Jumping to her feet, she summoned a small flask of pepper-up potion and an invigoration draught from the bottom drawer of her desk. Downing both potions consecutively, she was bounding towards the door before their effects could properly kick in. 

“I’m spending the day in the archives.” Hermione called over her shoulder, letting Marissa know that she would be detained throughout the day.

She only had ten hours to research everything that the Ministry had in the Archives regarding dark curses and familial contracts. 

Picking up her pace, Hermione hastened towards the lifts with a newfound determination.

She would not be walking into the snake-pit unprepared. 


	3. The gods must be cruel

It was precisely seven o’clock when Hermione appeared at the edge of the Malfoy estate’s apparition wards. Fortunately, Summer had only recently crept into the beginnings of Autumn, and the remains of the sunset still against the approaching darkness. 

Now, standing before the large, metal gates, she hesitated. Malfoy Manor was not a sight she had ever intended to see again. The Manor loomed eerily over the vast estate; its gothic architecture, though probably once grand, now seemed ominous to Hermione’s eyes. 

Stepping forward, the gates swung open automatically: the heavy, black metal groaning with weight and age.

This was it. There was no going back now. 

Hermione began the long walk up to Malfoy Manor. 

* * *

An old House Elf had met Hermione at the front entrance. After leading her through a rather grand foyer and towards a darkened passageway on the right, Hermione realised that she was being taken to the West wing of the Manor—farthest away from the room where she had been tortured only a handful of years ago. 

_At least Narcissa Malfoy had decided to use some decency tonight,_ she thought.

“Mistress awaits.” The house elf croaked, gesturing to an open door that led into a rather well-lit parlour. 

“Thank you.” She said kindly as it hobbled away, muttering and grumbling under its breath. Some house elves hated her just as much as the wizards and witches who owned them, it seemed. Smiling to herself, Hermione wondered if the house elf knew Kreacher. 

Hermione entered the parlour with her head held high. She wasn’t going to play into Narcissa’s games today. Dealing with a Slytherin was like playing ‘ _Snakes and Ladders,’_ every time you thought you were winning, the snake would swallow you whole and leave you at the bottom of the board again. 

The parlour was beautiful, there was no doubt about that. Every detail had been refined to complement the natural lighting and subtle colour scheme—which surprisingly wasn’t green, but blue. She could easily imagine curling up with a book on one of the luxurious, antique sofas. 

Admiring the quint room before her, Hermione noticed that Narcissa was perched on the edge of the sofa nearest to the fireplace. With hands clasped tightly in her lap, Narcissa stared blankly into the flickering flames. 

“Good evening, Miss Granger.” Narcissa greeted without turning around. 

“Lady Malfoy.” Hermione replied politely. 

Narcissa scarcely resembled the same poised and elegant witch whom had barged into Hermione’s office only one day prior. Her once radiant glow of refinement had been replaced with an ashen pallor, framed wildly with unkept wisps of hair. Looking almost casual, she wore neither jewels nor elaborate dress-robes this evening.

Indeed, Lady Malfoy looked every bit the ‘grieving mother.’

The first thought Hermione had, was to call Narcissa’s bluff and applaud her dedication to dramatic detail. She had come prepared with copious knowledge regarding curses, magical contracts and dark magic. She had spent all day formulating every possible solution and was quite content with her findings. No curses, magical contracts or instances of dark magic had ever required a marriage or binding ceremony in order to save a wizard or witch’s life.

Over one thousand years of evidentiary support had reassured her that Narcissa was simply over-reacting and severely misinformed. 

Unfortunately, the confident mindset that Hermione had brandished all afternoon vanished within moments as the witch before her finally turned to acknowledge her guest.

Narcissa’s deep, grey eyes, were now puffy and rimmed with a telltale redness. Her ever-present, fierce look of apathy, had been similarly marred with obvious hints of distress too.

She had probably been crying all day. 

Taking a seat across from Narcissa, Hermione felt a wave of terror wash over her. _Draco really was dying. Lady Malfoy really had come to her in desperation,_ she thought.

How does one even begin to comprehend the enormity of something they never thought they would have to do? 

“What is it you would have me do?” Hermione asked quietly. 

* * *

  
“Miss Granger.” Narcissa began warily. “I must warn you; I must _ensure_ you understand that my son is not quite himself anymore.” 

Hermione listened attentively, her mind spinning with Narcissa’s every word as she immediately began deducing what could possibly be wrong with Draco Malfoy.   
  
Nodding for Lady Malfoy to continue, she waited with bated breath.

“I understand that Draco was never a saint.” Narcissa sniffed. “However, I raised him to be proud and proper, and my son always stood obediently by those ideals—even if they are not what you would agree with—I cannot fault him for his past behavior.” 

_This witch was a whole other level of delusional_ , she thought, trying not to let her disapproval show. 

“Please, do not base your judgement on what you witness this evening, Miss Granger.”

Hermione had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. _As if her opinion of Draco Malfoy was anything special to begin with?_

“But, the dark curse... It’s been affecting him for many years now. I’m sure you can understand what that would do to a wizard?” Narcissa revealed, her voice taking on a pleading tone. “Look _through_ it. My son is still there.” 

_A dark curse? How had Draco Malfoy become the receiver of a dark curse?_

This was good news though! Dark curses were reversible. If anyone could find a solution, she could. Maybe, Narcissa hadn’t wasted her efforts approaching her after all. 

Of course, dark curses were extremely complex works of magic, varying greatly upon the strength of the caster. After spending almost a year camping with a Horcrux and memorising the darkest of spell books’ during the war, she was fairly confident that she would be able to help. 

“Why is your son cursed?”

Narcissa’s posture visibly stiffened. “I’ve already said too much.” Lowering her head, she stared at her tightly clasped hands before adding. “Forgive me, Miss Granger. It is not my place to reveal anymore than I already have.” 

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. She had suspected that Narcissa wouldn’t reveal anything more of consequence to her.   
  
So be it, she decided. 

“I would like to speak with Draco now, please.” 

* * *

  
“Remember what I told you, Miss Granger.” Narcissa stiffly reminded her as she lead her through the Manor. “My son is not himself right now. Do not let him sway you; I know that there is hope in him yet.”

She followed obediently whilst listening to Narcissa’s endless worries. However, it seemed to her that Narcissa was actually trying to persuade _herself_ about the true nature of her own son, rather than convince Hermione. 

They had been winding down so many endless passageways and turning so many corners, that Hermione could barely keep up with which part of the Manor they were in right now.

Unfortunately, the news of her blood-status had obviously spread throughout the Manor upon her arrival. All the portraits adorning the walls, had awoken with immediate vigor. Stunned at the sight of a muggleborn witch freely stalking the hallways of Malfoy Manor, every portrait had proceeded to shout profanities and snarl insults at Hermione with obvious relish. 

_Good Godric_ _! Did every pureblood home require family portraits to act as a personalised caterwauling charm upon sight of every muggleborn or blood traitor?_ She wondered, her lip curling at a particularly nasty insult.

Narcissa, ignoring the interruptions, continued to lead her towards a large set of doors near the end of the hallway. Halting outside the entryway, she turned to Hermione with a serious expression. “Draco is confined to the quarters just through these doors.” 

Hermione’s eyes widened as Narcissa promptly held up a wand to the door. Brandishing the wand in a fluid procession of familiar movements, she set about removing the wards surrounding Draco’s suite. 

Having recognized the counter-charms, Hermione couldn’t help but apprehensively wonder as to why Narcissa had placed confinement wards around Draco’s quarters—was he dangerous? 

“I will not be joining you, Miss Granger.” 

She was about to protest, but Narcissa had grabbed her arm and shoved her through the now open door. “Best to keep your wand in hand.” Narcissa added quickly, shutting the solid oak door with a reverberating thud. 

Hermione squeaked in alarm. What had Lady Malfoy just said? She would need her wand? _What in Godric’s name had she just walked into?_

Swallowing the dry lump in her throat, she turned to face the room.

Instantly, her gaze fixed upon the sight of a tall, white-haired figure holding a tumbler of firewhiskey. The figure stood looking out of a particularly large window, casually staring across the Wiltshire countryside with not a care in the world.

In quiet disbelief, Hermione moved across the room; gripping her wand tightly behind her back, she was prepared to act quickly if needed.

“Evening, _Granger_.” A voice she hadn’t heard in years drawled coldly. “I believe I’ve been expecting you.”

She had definitely not been prepared for this.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was a sight to behold, and not in the way that Hermione had been expecting. Dressed in sharply tailored black robes, his pale complexion and pointed features were attractively contrasted. The once sunken shell of a scared teenage boy had been replaced with that of a broader and more confident young wizard. 

A very _healthy_ looking young wizard. A very _normal_ and ‘not affected by a dark curse’ young wizard.

“You look… _well_?” Hermione demanded, utterly perplexed. 

“Do tell me, Granger. What has my mother revealed to you?” Draco asked, ignoring Hermione’s questioning remark.

“That you need to be saved.”

Draco scoffed loudly, reaching for a large flask of Firewhiskey on a nearby small table, he poured himself another glass. Noting Hermione’s obvious bewilderment, he lifted the tumbler towards her in a mock toast.

“Keeps the pain away.” He whispered dramatically. 

She was not amused. 

“Come on, Granger. It’s after five o’clock.” 

“Are you not going to tell me anything, Malfoy?” She demanded once more.

Draco sneered before turning around, draining the contents of the tumbler in one gulp.“My mother would have had me unconscious in bed, feigning imminent death upon our meeting. Don’t be fooled by her theatrics... I’m perfectly capable of solving this myself.” He spoke with his back to her. 

She couldn't believe that Ron and Harry had been right. “So, your mother lied about you being in imminent danger from a dark curse?” 

“I didn’t say that.” He replied cryptically, still facing away from her. 

“You’re really _dying_? But—But you’re so calm about it?”

Draco turned around abruptly and levelled her with the same pointed look his mother was so fond of using. “Don’t be absurd. We all have to die someday. No one wants a repeat of the last lunatic who sought to escape death by any means.” 

“You’re not afraid?” Hermione was feeling slightly discomforted by Malfoy’s attitude towards his own demise. “You’re so young.” 

“I’m hardly going to be the youngest to die as a result of the war... Spare me your pathetic sympathy; we both know I have no want of it.” 

“The war? You were cursed in the war?” She latched on, trying to draw answers out of a very uncooperative Draco Malfoy.

“Ten points to Gryffindor.” 

“Your mother said that you were confined to this suite—Why?" Hermione pressed, curious as to why Malfoy had been retained within these quarters when he appeared so painstakingly _normal_.

Normal for Malfoy, that was...

“Now that my dear father is rather preoccupied within Azkaban these days, I do what I can to appease her.” 

“I never took you as self-less, Malfoy.” She clipped in response, refusing to believe that he would go to such an extent for anyone.

“On the days when I’m myself again, I remember who was there for me... even when I wasn’t.”

Her brow rose slightly at the brief show of emotion that had flitted across his expression. _So he wasn’t always himself? Interesting,_ she noted.

“I saw the confinement wards.”

“My mother was rather persistent that I stay put this evening. Of course, she can’t really be blamed, she does have a new little _pet_ whom she so wanted for me to speak with." Draco shot her a snide smirk.

Picking up the bottle of Firewhiskey once again, he spoke in his usual drawl. "At least I got to keep this lovely, little bottle of 'Ogden's finest' with me; a few more glasses and I might actually tolerate the smell of _dirt_ in the room." Sighing dramatically, he continued with a more bitter tone. "One has to be prepared these days, who knows what sort of _mud_ will be tracked in through the front door." 

"You should get used to the smell of dirt, Malfoy." Hermione smiled sweetly. ”I suspect that you'll soon be six feet under it."

“Why are you here?” He slammed the bottle back down on the small table.

“I told you. Your mother asked me to save you.”

“No, Granger. Why are _you_ here? I fail to believe that Hermione Granger: public advocate for the downtrodden and pathetic, would be interested in helping my family.”

“It’s like you said, Malfoy. I’m the public advocate for the downtrodden and pathetic.” 

“Don’t get clever with me.” Draco’s mouth was set in a hard line. “What did my mother bribe you with? I’m quite surprised you were so easily bought.” 

“I haven’t agreed to anything.” Hermione bit out, affronted at such an accusation. “Nor would I want so much as a knut from either you or your mother.”

“There must be _something_ you want from me. We both know that you wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“I would leave right now. Merlin knows that the magical community would be better off without another pureblood wizard like you.”

“Having problems with the likes of me, hmm?” Draco’s smirk widened dangerously. “You want to use my name to further your connections within the Ministry... Don’t you, Granger?” 

“It crossed my mind.” She admitted reluctantly. “Though, no. If you must know, I’m here because I couldn’t just sit back whilst your mother claimed that you lay dying. No matter how insufferable you are, I knew I had to at least _try_ to help you.” 

“Can’t even negotiate the better end of a deal when it’s handed to you on a golden Malfoy platter. I over-estimated you. I assumed that you would have had my mother funding your every charitable event in the next decade—just for you being here tonight! Though, I shouldn’t have expected such cunning from the witch who can barely conceal the wand she’s been holding behind her back since entering the room.”

Hermione refused to be baited by Draco’s insults. “Some witches and wizards are just _good_ , Malfoy. They don’t ask for payment when the cost of someone’s life is at stake.”

“Always the Gryffindor hero, aren’t you, Granger?” Draco continued to ridicule her. “However, I guess you couldn’t _all_ escape Potter’s insufferable mantra. I did always think it was rather foolish to have all you Gryffindorks living together at Hogwarts—especially through all those _impressionable_ years—constantly surrounded by so many pathetic influences...”

Draco tittered at her shocked expression before continuing.

“You lot all bound about thinking yourselves brave, but you’re all just thoughtless and reckless in the end.” He gestured to Hermione. “And here we are, another _gleaming Gryffindor,_ come to save the world!” 

“You’re hardly the world, Malfoy.” She rebutted. “And you should be thanking me.”

“Just piss off, Granger.” All traces of his previous mirth suddenly gone. 

“I’m here to help you!” 

“Exactly.” 

Hermione bristled. She had no time for such childish dramatics. Throwing up her hands in a sign of aggravation, she stalked angrily towards Draco. “You insufferable, arrogant git!”

“What? What did you expect, that I would _want_ your help?” Draco let out a scathing laugh. “In your _dirty_ little muggleborn dreams.” 

“Then go ahead and die. I know that it’s probably extremely dark magic—curses like that, they don’t simply take you down painlessly—you’ll be begging for anyone to help you before the end. Though, from what I can tell, it seems that you _deserve_ to be suffering.”

Draco’s hands clenched by his sides at Hermione’s words yet, he said nothing.

“And what of your mother?” 

“Don’t bring my mother into this. She had no right to approach you.” He replied in a harsh voice.

“I would have thought that if you didn’t want to live for yourself, that you would at least want to live for her.”

Draco let out a loud, animalistic growl at Hermione’s words. “Enough!”

Instinctively stepping backwards, Hermione flinched as Draco swung his leg towards the small table laden with the fire-whiskey and fancy looking crystal tumblers. With a distinctive crash, the echoing chorus of shattering glass reverberated within the room as the table screeched along the marble floor. 

Her hand remained behind her back, gripping her wand tightly as she stared wide eyed at the scene before her.

“I know that you don’t want to die, Malfoy.”

“SHUT UP!” he roared, rounding on Hermione in just a few short breaths. “You know nothing! _Brightest_ _witch of her age,_ and still just as ignorant as before.”

Draco now stood a mere inches away from Hermione. Breathing hard, and eyes wide, he towered before her menacingly.   
  
Hermione acknowledged that Draco Malfoy was like an injured dog: poisoned with fear and pain, he sought to lash out at those who got too close to his wounds.

“Why wont you tell me what’s wrong with you, Malfoy?” Hermione pestered him further. Who was she to be afraid of a mere worked up ferret? “Dark curses can often be removed. What aren’t you telling me—It’s been over five years! I don’t understand what dark curse would only now, suddenly be so bad?” 

He stared at Hermione blankly. 

“Why does your mother keep bringing up a marriage?”

Again, Draco met her question with only a glare. 

Ignoring his silence, she continued her tirade of questions. “Your mother left a Malfoy marriage proposal contract on my desk, don’t you think I deserve some answers?” 

Draco paled considerably at her words. “My mother did _what_?” He breathed harshly, finally addressing her.

Hermione couldn’t blame his reaction. It was one thing for Narcissa to proposition Hermione with a marriage. However, to present her with an _official_ Malfoy marriage proposal contract... she would have only had to sign it, and Draco Malfoy would have been legally and irreversibly engaged without even knowing it. 

_Instead of mocking her, she_ reasoned, _Draco should be thanking his lucky stars that she wasn’t_ _a more socially cunning, pureblood witch._

“I assumed you knew.” She countered, arching her brow. “Or does your mother perform all your romantic gestures these days?” 

“From what you just said, you obviously didn’t read the contract, Granger.” 

“I did... Nice library.” 

Sighing heavily, Draco simply turned and walked away from her. She watched him silently as he stopped in front of an ornate looking wooden chest. Kneeling quickly, he reached in and withdrew a long, narrow box before straightening once again.

Turning to face Hermione, Draco walked over to where she stood—still refusing to meet her questioning look.

“You wouldn’t believe me If I told you.” He stated, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Try me.”

Draco opened the box and pulled out a finely made, Hawthorn wand. 

“It’s not some special or cursed wand, Granger.” Draco chuckled, having witnessed Hermione’s immediate reaction. “It’s my wand; though, I haven’t had any need of it in quite some time.” 

Holding up his hand in a gesture of silence, he prevented Hermione’s next onslaught of questions.

“It will be easier if I show you.” 

She watched nervously as Draco hesitatingly lifted the wand out before him.

Why did he suddenly look so scared? Why did _she_ suddenly feel so scared? 

Tightening her grip on her own wand reassuringly, she waited as Draco pointed his wand at the mess of broken glass.

Carefully and clearly, he uttered the incantation for a simple vanishing charm. 

Hermione had been expecting a loud explosion, or the spell somehow backfiring—or even her more obscure imaginings of exotic cursed fire that would chase Malfoy around the room. What she hadn’t expected—or even thought possible—was Draco Malfoy suddenly dropping to the floor the minute the incantation left his mouth.

Hermione wasn’t proud to admit that for a few short seconds, she had simply stood back, rooted with shock.

Glancing at the listless wand as it rolled a few feet away from his convulsing body, she felt a loud pounding in her head that she couldn’t quite place; it took a moment for her to realise that it was the horrifying sounds of Draco’s screams echoing throughout the room that plagued her mind. Snapping out of her shock upon this realisation, she was kneeling by his side within the space of a few heartbeats, watching with wide eyes as Draco lay tightly clutching his left forearm with his right hand.

Without warning, Draco let out a particularly loud, bone chilling scream as his whole body started to shake violently. His body twisted and arched in a way that reminded Hermione all to familiarly of the effects of the cruciatus curse. Placing her own shaking hand against his back, she attempted to soothe him as his body writhed from the pain. 

Panicked and confused, she could only watch helplessly as Malfoy fell victim to what was obviously the dark curse’s sudden attack. 

With one last scream, Draco’s muscles convulsed tightly before falling limp entirely.

Hermione’s heart clenched at the sight of Draco, now lying eerily still, his body splayed out awkwardly on his side. She hadn’t realised that she had been holding her breath until he took in a deep, rattled breath himself—finally prompting her to exhale loudly. 

Hermione continued to kneel by his side helplessly as Draco, groaning weakly, suddenly rolled onto his back with obvious difficulty. The glass shards which were still all over the floor, had cut into him while his body had convulsed as a result of the curse. With his robes now torn jaggedly, and a small cut starting to drip a trail of blood from the side of his brow: Draco Malfoy looked as if he had just been tortured for hours. 

_To him, it probably felt like it, she_ thought grimly.

Leaning forward, she sought to inspect the small cut on his brow. Reaching out to carefully move a lock of Draco’s hair away from the bloodied area, a strong, pale hand shot up and caught her wrist tightly before she could touch him.

“Don’t.” He rasped, weakly pushing her hand away from his face.

“Malfoy?” Hermione whispered, leaning forward once more.

Pained, grey eyes slowly opened to meet her own concerned gaze. 

“Malfoy, what has happened to you?” 


	4. Firewhiskey, and other burning truths

Hermione stole a glance to where Draco now sat, his body propped up stiffly against the wall.

Earlier, when Draco had regained consciousness, and much to his dismay, she had immediately examined him for any other signs of injury. Before he could protest further, she had mended his torn robes with a quick procession of basic spells—wordlessly vanishing the broken glass in the process too. 

She had then politely attempted to help Draco up from the floor, though, to her disbelief, it seemed that he had managed to retain his obstinate mood; he had stubbornly refused anymore of her help. After stumbling awkwardly towards the far side of the room, he sank down heavily against the wall. 

Having noticed how Draco’s body had responded awkwardly to his will—his muscles still weakened and limp from the convulsions—Hermione currently wondered what type of curse could affect someone in this way. Aside from the cut on his brow, Draco appeared relatively fine. However, she knew the opposite to be true...

The pain that the curse had inflected, had been completely internal: relentlessly attacking the muscles and nervous system in the most abhorrent manner, similarly to that of the cruciatus curse. Though, while the cruciatus curse attacked the mind with an intense illusion of pain, overwhelming the body into complete dementia. This particular dark curse, seemed to actually physically attack Draco’s entire nervous system; it crippled his every cell as the dark magic coursed venomously through his veins.

An advanced diagnostic spell had revealed an expansive, layered web of magical scarring that left her with little wonder as to just how often these attacks occurred. 

Draco, of course, still refused to provide Hermione with any solid answers. After all that had happened, they were back to square one again.

With a huff of frustration, Hermione fixed her gaze onto Malfoy, watching him closely—waiting for him to break under her persistent need for answers. The wizard in question seemed not to notice at all. With his eyes closed and his head tilted towards the ceiling, Draco Malfoy contentedly remained sitting against the wall: breathing deeply as his body shook with the occasional, subtle tremor. 

Having noticed these spasms, Hermione conjured a goblet of water and walked over to Draco’s side. Holding the goblet out with a steady hand, she silently offered it to him.

He cracked one eye open before glancing at the proffered drink. “If that isn’t firewhiskey, I don’t want it.” He croaked, voice still hoarse from screaming. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. What an utter twat, she thought. Thinking back to the various ways Malfoy had insulted her while ignoring her every question, Hermione’s hand acted before her mind could tell herself otherwise. It had only taken a slight bend of the wrist—one small decision, before a torrent of cold water was being poured out from the goblet and straight onto the head of a particularly frustrating, unsuspecting Slytherin. 

“What the fuck, Granger?!” He spluttered, glaring upwards at Hermione with a dangerous expression. 

“Not as impervious to water as you are to help, are you, Malfoy?” She smirked, thoroughly amused. She knew that there were better ways to get his attention—considering his current condition—but a nice cold _shower_ did have the added benefit of helping with muscle recovery... at least, it might. 

Draco gritted his teeth in contempt; His hair, face and most of his robes had been drenched during Hermione’s childish act of retribution. With a still shaky hand, he pushed the wet locks of hair away from his face and irritably leant back against the wall once again. 

“You’re lucky, Granger. Considering that I can’t move right now, I’m going to pretend that you didn’t just do that.” He mumbled under his breath angrily as he attempted to brush the water from the front of his robes. 

“Oh please, what would you do? You’re practically a muggle.” Hermione retorted, unperturbed. “Tell me, are you really dying, or is not having magic as good as a death sentence around here?”

“I have magic.” He stilled his actions as he turned to glare at her. “I just can’t use it.” 

“You know what I meant.” 

Sighing, Draco turned to her with an annoyed look. “Will you really not stop pestering me until you know what is wrong with me, Granger?” 

“You told me that you would show me. Now, you’re just sitting there, refusing to answer any of my questions, even after everything I just witnessed.” 

“I had hoped that it would scare you away.” 

Feeling a touch of sympathy towards Draco’s statement, she could only guess that there was a semblance of truth within his words. How many other witches had witnessed what she had seen this evening... and walked away?

“I’m a Gryffindor, remember?” Hermione smiled sadly at the still very wet Draco Malfoy. “We don’t run away from a challenge.” 

“How original, Granger.”

Tucking her wand up into her sleeve, Hermione sat down next to Draco, copying his stance as she too leant her head back against the wall. 

“Things were supposed to have gotten easier after the war.”

“Don’t blame the world for your own reckless need to run head-first into every confrontation.” Draco drawled emotionlessly. 

The corners of her mouth lifted slightly. “For once, I’ll agree with you, Malfoy.”

Draco remained quiet, staring blankly across the room, deep in thought. 

Hermione had neither the urge nor the thought to fill the silence. There was nothing more that she could do. She would have to wait. Wait for the wizard next to her to place his trust in the one witch he regarded the least, but was being forced to rely on the most. 

Thus, the silence between them dragged by lazily. Each minute fading into the sounds of Draco’s ever slowing breaths. The remaining tremors had now ceased completely and even the barest hints of colour had returned to his cheeks. 

Before Hermione could ask how he was feeling, Draco turned his head towards her; staring blankly, he met her questioning gaze as they sat side by side, facing one another.

“What is it that you want to know?” He whispered defeatedly. 

Hermione’s eyes widened with surprise. Calming her reaction, she tried to not pay any attention to the sudden, close proximity between them.

“Start from the beginning.” She uttered quickly, her voice catching in her eagerness. “Why are you cursed?” 

Without hesitating, Draco held out his left forearm between them. Pulling back the long sleeve, he calmly revealed the underside of his arm for Hermione to see.

“Take a look for yourself. I told you that this would be hard to explain.”

She stared mutely at Malfoy’s left forearm. She had expected to see the typical remnants of the faded Dark Mark marring his skin. However, the same pinkish, scarred remains of the Dark Mark that all of Voldemort’s previously favoured followers still bared... was not there.

No, Draco’s forearm revealed a Dark Mark that looked exactly the same as every other Dark Mark would have looked before Voldemort’s magic had lost its sway on the world.

The stark, inky black design of the skull and snake still appeared very prominent—and very much active. Watching transfixed as the Dark Mark seemed to breathe with life against the pale skin of his forearm, Hermione felt her own breath leave her body as she almost fainted in fright. 

She had seen it... felt it. Voldemort’s magic; the curse.

Hermione never would have thought that his predicament would be because of _this_.

The Dark Mark on Draco Malfoy’s left forearm still radiated with magic.

* * *

“Granger.” Draco snapped, drawing her out of her paralysing thoughts. “Voldemort’s dead. He’s not coming back. You don’t have to act as if a swarm of hopeful Death Eaters are about to come clambering through the door.” 

Hermione nodded robotically, her eyes still fixed in a trance as she watched the angry, black design moving agitatedly across his still exposed skin. 

“Granger!” He pulled his arm back before hastily rolling down the sleeve once more. 

She couldn’t think straight. Voldemort was dead, every Horcrux had _definitely_ been destroyed. Yet, Draco’s mark looked as dark and as angry as if Voldemort himself had pressed his wand against the harrowing design. 

“But...You... Who could... How?” She was completely lost for words as she stared wide eyed at a very uncomfortable looking Draco Malfoy.

“You sound like an owl.” He scoffed, looking away nervously before quietly adding. “The curse imbued into the mark... mine’s still active.”

“I don’t understand. The magic within each Dark Mark was severed when Voldemort died.” 

“It was.” Draco brought his hand up to his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Except, when I took the dark mark the ritual was never... finished. Yes, the mark was placed _on_ me, but never fully… _set_.” 

“What?” Hermione blinked at him, thoroughly confused. 

“The remnants of the Dark Mark that the other Death Eaters all have, the dark curse within each of those marks had already been lifted long before the war ended; only Voldemort’s vile magic seeped through their veins at the time of his death.” Draco admitted. “However, the same curse within those marks—which they all so freely escaped—is still very much active within me today.” 

“I’m not following you.”

“Look, Granger. The Dark Mark was not just a token of Voldemort’s favour. It was an _honour_ to be in his innermost circle. The most absolute way for one to belong to his cause, to serve his cause—to _kill_ for his cause.”

Realising what he had been trying to say, Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. “You had to kill someone for the Dark Mark to fully bind to you, didn’t you?” 

Draco nodded solemnly. “That’s the problem, I’ve never killed anyone.”

* * *

To say that she was shocked, was an understatement. “So, Dumbledore…?” Her voice was thick with emotion. 

“Yes.” Draco nodded stiffly. “You could call it an initiation—a test, maybe. What better punishment for my parents than to set me out with a target I could never kill? Though, he probably expected for me to be killed in the process... I don’t assume to know the workings of Voldemort’s mind, Granger.” 

Hermione blinked back her tears as she tried not to think of that hateful night all those years ago. 

“Surely, you must have wondered why Voldemort _branded_ me so young; why I wasn’t simply given the task and sent off to Hogwarts just the same?”

“That does make sense—in a completely messed up way.” She acknowledged, remembering the depth of Tom Riddle’s paranoia. “Voldemort had a failsafe; he would know who was loyal to him. Who was truly willing to not just take the mark, but prove that they served him above all else. Who better to trust, than those who would willingly blacken their soul for you?” 

“He was rather obsessed with death, wasn’t he?” Draco stated impassively. “A merry little group of followers all linked by subservient murder—how _fitting_.”

“Malfoy? If the ritual for the curse attached to your Dark Mark was never fulfilled—why— _how_ is it able to affect you after all this time? How can an incomplete dark ritual affect you like it did today?”

“You weren’t listening, Granger. The curse requires the sacrifice of a life to complete the bond.”

“It’s using your own life to complete the ritual!” She gasped, the horror of the situation fully dawning on her. 

“Yes.” He met her saddened gaze. “Every day, since I received the mark, the curse has been growing stronger as it _feeds_ from me. At first, after the war ended, I didn’t even notice it.” Chuckling coldly, he added. “It took me two more years, two _bladdy_ years for me to realise that it was because of the Dark Mark—because of the curse—that I had been weakening so drastically.”

Nodding at his explanation, she silently gestured for him to continue. 

“As you saw earlier, it affected my magic first—I still have magic!” Draco declared hastily, noticing Hermione’s bewildered expression. “The curse attaches itself to every source of energy it can find. Using magic—casting even a basic spell—it’s like calling the dark magic of the curse to the surface. I can’t even distinguish between its darkness and my own magic these days.”

She frowned at the thought of such darkness corrupting her own magic and visibly shuddered.

“Every day, I feel its grip _tighten_ on me.” His voice shook noticeably as he spoke. “Soon, I won’t have the energy left to fight it anymore.”

“It’s slowly draining the life right out of you?” She confirmed, perplexed that someone could endure with a curse like that within them for so long.

Draco nodded sharply in reply, his gaze fixed intently on her own.

“There you have it, Granger. Now you know why I’m dying.” 

* * *

Tucked deep within the confines of Malfoy manor, the unlikely pair sat leaning against the cold stone wall, side by side, both of them nursing newly conjured tumblers of firewhiskey: firewhiskey which Hermione had all too happily retrieved from the well-stocked cabinet on the far side of the room. 

_There they sat,_ Hermione thought ironically. _Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, bonding over expensive firewhiskey whilst inadvertently toasting to his imminent demise._

It was all so… _confusing_ , she decided, thinking back to everything he had told her. Sipping the burning amber liquid contemplatively, she attempted to puzzle all the pieces together. 

“Malfoy.” She asked, her tone thoughtful as she idly swirled the remains of her drink within the short glass. “Why haven’t you been able to remove the curse?” 

“Ah.” Draco mumbled hoarsely. “I was wondering when you were going to start asking better questions.” 

Hermione shrugged and took another burning sip. 

“May I assume that you know the basics about Dark Curses?”

Rolling her eyes at his mocking tone, she mumbled affirmatively. 

“The Dark Mark is made up of dark magic—that’s self-explanatory, yes? But it’s not just a single dark curse attached to the mark itself. Voldemort, despite his obvious flaws, was a very powerful and very talented wizard.”

She scoffed loudly, though, still nodded her head, agreeing reluctantly. 

“The dark curse—the magic currently swarming within my Dark Mark—it’s imbued into my very being. There are tiers of curses, multiple layers of blood magic intertwined with binding magic; magic that roots itself through the very fabric of my soul.” Draco’s voice faded with his every word. “Voldemort himself spent hours weaving his own poisonous magic through me: not stopping until every part of me was strung to the curse by a thread... forever linking me to the darkness.” 

“Careful, Malfoy. You almost sound disgusted by Voldemort’s actions.” She raised her eyebrow in evident suspicion. 

“I was—I still am.” Draco downed the contents of his tumbler before slamming it down onto the floor next to him. “There isn’t much that I wouldn’t do just to escape the remnants of his clutches.”

Her brow furrowed at his words as she recalled everything he had told her about the curse. There was a very obvious solution that Draco had been presented with from the start, and she wondered as to why he hadn’t taken it... 

“I’m confused.” She began hesitantly. “If killing someone would save you from the curse, why didn’t you do it, Malfoy? Why didn’t you just kill someone? It couldn’t have been that hard to find some unsuspecting muggle—”

As she spoke, Draco’s head snapped up abruptly.“Why didn’t I ‘ _Just’_ kill someone?” He spat. “So, that’s what you really think of me, Granger?”

“Is it so hard to believe that I do?” 

“I’m not that fucked up.” He exhaled slowly, evidently trying to calm his temper. “I won’t give Voldemort the satisfaction of controlling my choices again. He’s done enough to my family already. He won’t corrupt my life again; not now that I finally have a say in it.” 

“He already controls your Life. You’re dying from his curse, remember?”

“No. He doesn’t.” Draco replied firmly, steeling his gaze as he became emotionless once more. “I will die proudly knowing that I never killed for him; that I fought against his control to the very end. Too many have already lost their lives because of this mark.”

“Exactly, Malfoy.” She challenged in a stern voice. “Too many have lost their lives because of that mark.”

“I’m aware. You don’t have to repeat what I say.”

”You have to survive this!”

“You know that I can’t.” 

“There has to be a way. Curses aren’t set in stone. Magic that strong, it has to have a core. You merely haven’t found the right angle to approach it yet.”

“You’re worse than a child.” Draco’s expression flickered with annoyance. “There’s no way around the curse. You can’t just stomp your feet and expect the world to bend the way that you want it to.” 

“I do not stomp my feet, Malfoy.” Hermione balked. 

“Yes, Granger, you do. I bet you stomp around the Ministry all day, throwing a tantrum at every witch and wizard who doesn’t agree with your view on how to solve something.” 

“I don’t see you providing any solutions other than comfortably sitting back and choosing the flowers for your own funeral.”

“I spent three years consulting every curse breaker that I could find, hoping to find the breakthrough I needed.” Draco supplied, uncaring when she scoffed in disbelief. “Finally, I found an answer... but it destroyed my hope.”

_He had an answer?_

She waited anxiously as Draco Took a moment to think. Given the morbid nature of the topic, she knew that it was probably rather difficult for him to talk about. Hermione, however, was still confident that the curse could be removed. 

“Truthfully.” He finally continued where he left off. “The ritual was never finalised so, in theory, yes... the dark curse could _possibly_ be removed, given ample time and effort.” 

Hermione brightened cheekily, though, before she could boast, Draco cut her off.

“However, the curse attached to the ritual, the requisite to perform the darkest act of magic—taking a life—it’s the very essence of the Dark Mark itself... Surely, you must realise the part of oneself a curse like that would attach onto?

“The soul.” Hermione sighed, releasing the confident breath she had taken only moments before.

“The curse is woven through my soul, it’s immovable: anchored to me like the veins across one’s heart.”

“But, that means, if you tried to...if you were to remove it...” Hermione gasped, unable to finish her sentence as she stared at Draco with wide, horrified eyes. 

“Yes, Granger. It would shatter my soul in the process.” 

* * *

Hermione paced back and forth, huffing and mumbling under her breath as her hair suffered the abuse of her agitated hands. Pulling and twisting at the messy nest of tangles and knots she had created, she was at a loss for words—and not for the first or even the second time that day. 

“If you pull out any more of that mangy hair of yours, I’m going to risk trying to hex you just to save the floor from your _disgusting_ shedding.” 

She stopped her muttering mid pace, rounding on Draco with a shocked expression before narrowing her gaze suspiciously.

“You!” She practically shrieked, stalking towards where he still leant against the wall.

Draco cringed as her previous ire at the situation now settled on him. 

“There’s something you haven’t mentioned, Malfoy.” She accused in a high-pitched voice. 

“I’ve told you everything that you _need_ to know.” He refused to look at her as he sat playing with the hem of his robes dejectedly. 

“Aha!” Hermione shrieked again, pointing her finger at him accusingly. “That’s just it, isn’t it? You think I’ve forgotten. I’ll admit that I was distracted while obsessing over the nature of this ridiculous curse—but I remember, I remember why your mother came to me!” 

She knew that he had purposefully directed her away from this very topic all evening. Slowly but surely, he had steered her mind away from her more rational thoughts as he artfully avoided each question and continuously riled her up. Not realising that Draco had been intentionally misleading her, Hermione had become more and more distracted from her original questions as the evening wore on. 

Draco narrowed eyes as she suddenly let out a shrill laugh. 

_She really needed to work on her Slytherin interaction skills,_ she admitted to herself grumpily. 

“What now, Granger?” He groaned.

“You said that you couldn’t be saved, Malfoy. But your mother explicitly said that _I_ would be able to save you... by... by marrying you.”

Her smirk dropped as she remembered _that_ particular detail. How in Godric’s name, would her marrying him, save his life?

Draco shot her a half smile, the exhaustion evident in his features. “You couldn’t save me, even if I let you try.” 

Refusing to let him rile her Gryffindor side once more, Hermione pressed for the only answer she wanted.

“Why does your mother think that me, marrying you,” She gestured wildly between them with both of her hands. “would save your life?”

“If only it were that simple. There’s no need to ask these questions. I will never go through with it.” 

“Marriage, simple? That’s—” 

“She wants you to soul bond with me.” Draco spat out irritably, cutting her off mid-sentence. 

“You can’t seriously expect me to believe that your mother wants us to—to _soul_ - _bond_.” 

“Believe what you want.” He shrugged his shoulders stiffly. “ _Dear_ mother believes that if the curse were to be removed from my soul whilst I was soul-bonded, that I would survive it.” 

“A way to stabilise your soul and safely remove the curse.” She breathed in awe. “I would never have thought of that; it’s... yes, I can see how it has potential... but, no...” 

Draco rolled his eyes at her perplexed state. Getting up slowly, he dusted off his robes as he waited for her inevitable realisation of what it all meant.

Hermione of course, had read all about soul-bindings before. There were hundreds of rituals that a witch or wizard could perform. Soul-binding magic ranged from simple rituals that served as part of most magical marriage ceremonies, to rituals that tested the brinks of humanity in the darkest of ways—like binding a torn piece of one’s soul to an object. 

Though, out of all the rituals, she could only think of _one_ that would potentially allow someone to stabilise their soul against such a powerful expulsion of dark magic.

“Malfoy.” She paled, looking up at him in clear bewilderment. “Your mother wants me to perform one of those ancient, soul-tethering rituals... doesn’t she?”

Nodding seriously, he moved closer to where she stood.

“Your mother really expects that I would want to tether my soul?” 

“You really are such a naïve little Gryffindor: assuming that _you_ will be the one to make all of the sacrifices.”

Draco’s gaze darkened perceptively at her stiff reaction to his words before he continued. 

“She expects _me_ to want to tether my own soul... to _you_.”


	5. The paths we take

Hermione had panicked.

Staring at Draco Malfoy with an unfathomable expression, she had done the only that thing she could think of at the time; she ran for it.

Well, she had turned around and _walked_ as briskly as she could manage in her frazzled state.

_So much for her Gryffindor courage._

Lady Malfoy wanted Draco to perform a soul-tethering ritual—with her! The nerve of that witch. Who was Narcissa to think that Hermione would agree to such a dangerous feat of magic just to save her son’s life? Her insufferable, arrogant son.

Draco made no move to stop her. 

Hermione noticed that Draco remained rooted to the floor where he stood, clearly surprised by her reaction. It was almost as if he had expected her to latch onto the idea of soul-tethering and demand to save him immediately, jumping eagerly at the chance to irrevocably tie their souls together for all eternity... not likely!

 _She had been acting annoyingly headstrong and confident about breaking his curse all evening,_ Hermione admitted to herself begrudgingly. But, breaking a dark curse was one thing, being bound to someone through your soul was a whole other bucket of Flobberworms. 

Her instincts were telling her to flee. Her heart—self-sacrificing as always—was telling her to stay and fight.

Right now, her instincts were winning.

After everything she had witnessed and learnt tonight, Hermione had too much to think about. Her thoughts of self-progression within the Ministry now seemed miniscule compared to Draco’s own suffering. How could she agree to help him, when she was primarily focused on her own reasons for saving his life. What type of witch did that make her? 

_Even if the ends justified the means, was she prepared to take on such a responsibility?_

If she agreed, Malfoy would be saved and the Wizangamot would probably start to take her appeals more seriously... but at what cost? Would she be able to live a life filled with Malfoy’s cold animosity in sight of her own selfless devotion? Could she give up the romantic passions of her heart in the pursuit of her passions for change within the magical world?

Hermione knew that she could.

However, would she be able to be soul-tethered to someone who hated her so ardently? Not just for this life, but the next too; joined by their souls for all eternity and more… 

That was something Hermione wasn’t sure she could do.

Terrified at having such an immense decision suddenly laid out before her, she found herself confronted with the rare instance of being at a complete loss as to what to do. She worked well under pressure, but there were still so many factors that she hadn’t been given a chance to even consider.

 _How could she be expected to make such a life changing decision in one evening?_

“You’re not, Granger.” Draco snapped, finally confronting the retreating witch before him.

 _Had she really said that last thought out loud?_ Hermione balked. Swivelling to face him from the other side of the room, she fixed him with an incredulous stare. 

“I told you that I didn’t want your help, Granger!” Striding over to where she now stood, Draco towered before her menacingly. “I’m not your next fucking charity case! Saving my life—this curse—it’s not some grand opportunity for you to portray yourself as the hero you think you are.”

His own gaze hardened at her angry expression. 

“Save it, Granger. I don’t care about why you think you need to help me—or why you don’t want to help me at all—I was never going to agree to actually _bind myself_ to _you_. Nothing you could ever say would change that. So, do us both a favour and piss off! You’ve already been here long enough.”

Hermione was speechless. The calm and vulnerable Draco whom she had caught a glimpse of tonight, was now gone. Had her reaction at the mention of soul tethering catalysed this sudden transition in behaviour, or was he just reverting back to his usual, arrogant self?

“You say that but, you will die without my help!” She fumed. How dare he act as if he were still above receiving help from her?

”We’ve been through this, I. Don’t. Care.” 

Her breath caught in her throat as she struggled to reply. She had to say _something..._ but what? Staring at Draco with flushed cheeks, her mouth opened and closed around words that refused to part from her lips.

_Was she any better, thinking herself above being soul-tethered to a Malfoy?_

“Just leave, Granger.” He drawled bluntly, his face completely bare of emotion once more.

“I’m sorry, Malfoy.” Hermione’s gaze reluctantly swept around the cold and disarrayed room, her thoughts lingering over everything that had transpired this evening. “I must—I must go.” 

“I already told you to leave.” 

She had exhausted so much energy tonight thinking about the curse and fighting Draco about his choices, that she hadn’t given any thought as to whether she would choose to help him—it was obvious that Draco didn’t even _want_ her help.

_However, did that make her decision easier or harder?_

After finding out that he was indeed dying from a curse, this is not how she had expected the evening to end. 

Any reasonable wizard would have been on his knees, begging for Hermione to lend her mind to the task of uncovering a solution and saving his life. But Draco Malfoy was not a reasonable wizard. He would never beg for Hermione Granger’s help, even if his life depended on it—and it currently did. 

She wanted to stay and argue with him, to tell him that he was being ridiculous and _needed_ her help. She wanted to shout at him for being so pig-headed that he thought death was better than being bound to her. She wanted to scream at him for being the arrogant wizard he was. She couldn’t believe that he had even doubted whether she was capable of saving him.

Hermione wanted to say everything on her mind and yet, her mind wanted her to say nothing at all.

It was all suddenly too much.

She needed air. She needed to breathe. She needed to get far away from Malfoy Manor.

“I have to go... I have to... think.” 

He didn’t reply.

“I have to make a decision.” She added, louder and less broken than before. 

“There’s no decision to make, Granger!” Draco shouted towards her already retreating form. 

Fighting the urge to turn around and meet the hate-filled gaze of the wizard she knew was watching her every step, Hermione focused on putting one foot in front of the other, making her grand escape.

_But why did she feel so conflicted to leave, when she was clearly walking away from Hell?_

* * *

  
The rest of the week passed by slowly.

Each day, Hermione nervously confined herself within her small office, constantly expecting Lady Malfoy to suddenly reappear and demand her immediate return to save her son. 

Narcissa Malfoy didn’t appear all week.

There had been no owls with any letters baring the Malfoy family crest—and no howlers either, she realised thankfully. It was as if she had never been to visit Malfoy Manor that Tuesday evening. 

Lady Malfoy had turned her back on Hermione, the way that Hermione had turned her back on Lady Malfoy’s son.

The morning after Hermione had been to speak with Draco, she had immediately been flooded with guilt and shame for her cowardly actions. Who had given her the right to pester him all night with unrivalled confidence, explicitly demanding to help him, only to turn on her heels and run away with her tail between her legs when it had all become too much?

_Destroying Voldemort’s curse and potentially becoming a Malfoy didn’t scare her, but soul-tethering did?_

Thus, Hermione had spent the majority of Wednesday morning with her head in her hands as she sulked behind her desk; the memory of Malfoy writhing on the floor in agony repeatedly plaguing her mind and sending relentless shivers across her skin.

As she had expected, Harry and Ron had been waiting anxiously for Hermione during their lunch break.

Without pause, they had both attempted to pry information from her regarding her visit with Malfoy. However, with little more than a shrug and a poor excuse, Hermione had successfully avoided their questions until they no longer sought her out for answers.

Assuming she had probably been wrong and Narcissa had indeed been over-reacting, the two wizards had left her alone to sulk for the rest of the week.

 _Let them think what they want,_ Hermione thought miserably. _She was a terrible excuse for a Gryffindor... and for a witch._

Thursday had been more self-forgiving. 

Hermiome had been furious. How dare Lady Malfoy approach her, the muggleborn whom had been tortured in the very Manor which Narcissa had so unashamedly _demanded_ for her to visit.

Who was Lady Malfoy, to ask Hermione to save the life of a wizard who had simply stood and watched her _dirty_ blood spill on their pristine marble floors?

Why should she feel guilty over someone who had endeavored to make her life miserable from day she had first stepped into Hogwarts? After all the turmoil he had put her through in the past, she probably should have hexed Malfoy for good measure. 

In fact, by the end of the day, she had felt more pity for the curse having to ‘ _feed’_ off of Draco’s miserable self, than she had felt for Draco being stuck with said curse.

Friday had offered no resolve for her battling emotions. 

Hermione had mistakenly assumed that Draco, after soothing his wounded pride, would have sought out Hermione within the week. If not him, then definitely his mother...

Conflicted and confused, she had spent the day bargaining with her mind, trying to rationalise why either of the Malfoy’s hadn’t contacted her—and why hadn’t she tried to contact them in return? Had Draco confronted his mother and barred her from approaching Hermione again? Was he already dead? 

She knew that she shouldn’t care this much about either of the Malfoy’s not contacting her, but the unmistakeable feeling of rejection was something she couldn’t easily shake. 

_Had she made the right decision?_

_Had she made a foolish mistake by walking away?_

However, even if she had agreed to Lady Malfoy’s plea to save her son, Draco would have undoubtedly refused her help. It was the one thing he had been sure to make abundantly clear when she had spoken with him: He didn’t want her to help him.

He was just an arrogant bully who didn’t deserve her help anyway.

Indeed, there had been no hope for her troubled mind. Hermione’s agitated thoughts persisted in their emotional torture; her mind desperate to create reasonable explanations for all that had transpired over the past few days.

As the weekend fell, so did Hermione’s spirits. 

Feeling guilty, angry and conflicted, Hermione took to shutting herself away in her flat with a multitude of books for company.

Having plundered every book regarding dark curses and soul-bindings from the Ministry archives, she was determined to figure out a way to solve the obstacle of Draco’s curse being intertwined with his soul—without having to be soul-tethered.   
  
She refused to accept that there was no other way to save his life. He had simply given up too easily. Sure, Malfoy had spent three years consulting various sources and experts regarding a solution... But, maybe he had resigned himself to his fate without much of a fight in the first place?

Surely, if he truly wanted to live, he would have at least found something after all this time? Even though any solution he found would probably be risky, shouldn’t he at least try? He didn’t have much more to lose... 

Hermione knew that Malfoy’s hopes for the future couldn’t have been very promising from the time of Voldemort’s return to power. Could he have given up even before the curse had taken effect?

It was all so confusing. The young wizard whom had sat next to Hermione whilst telling her about the curse, was not the same angry and proud pureblood she had met at the beginning of the evening—nor at the end of it. 

No, in those moments, Draco Malfoy had merely been a broken young wizard, barely a handful of years older than what most would still consider a boy, he was but a mere reflection of a wizard who had been used and manipulated from before he could think for himself.

In theory, Malfoy had been just as much of a victim of the war as the rest of them had been... in some aspects, maybe even more so.

Gritting her teeth, Hermione had set about her task of uncovering a solution with renewed vigor. Malfoy had become her new charity case after all.

However, the day passed with not much success. There really was no other way to remove the curse without damaging the soul in the process.

Reluctantly, she had admitted defeat. 

By the time Sunday rolled around, Hermione just wanted to be left alone. 

Unfortunately, her friends had other plans for her.

An owl from Harry had arrived promptly Sunday morning, pleading for Hermione to finally let go of her pride and come over to the Burrow for the usual Weasley Sunday lunch and family festivities. 

Not being up to discussing the events of the week with Harry and Ron quite yet, Hermione had politely made her excuses once again: declining the invitation in favour of her books and solitude.

Facing Harry and Ron—had Narcissa indeed been exaggerating—would have been an easy enough task. Yes, Hermione was proud and stubborn to a fault; However, admitting that she had been wrong to others was something she had learnt to increasingly do. It was admitting to _herself_ that she had been wrong, that she was still having trouble with. 

How was _she_ , Hermione Granger, supposed to sit back and accept that Draco’s curse had no cure... that she _couldn’t_ help... that her help wasn’t _wanted_?

Even when it meant certain his death.

With an uncharacteristic growl of frustration, Hermione slammed the large book that she was reading shut. How dare that insufferable Malfoy think that even death was better than having anything to do with her—than accepting her help. 

Just as she was about to slip into Thursday’s mood all over again, a sharp knock sounded on her apartment door. 

Snapping out from the brink of her tirade, Hermione’s head swivelled as her startled gaze landed on her front door.

The Weasleys’ and Harry were all at the Burrow today. Who could possibly be knocking on her door? 

Slowly, Hermione stood and walked to the front door. Holding her breath—and her wand, she stooped to peer through the keyhole.

 _What in Merlin’s beard?_ She thought, taking a deep breath as she prepared to confront the intruder of her peace.

Opening the door to stick her head through, she glared at the red-haired witch casually leaning with one arm up against the doorframe.

“Afternoon.” Ginny Weasley greeted before grinning widely and flicking her hair at Hermione’s perplexed expression. “The boys said you were having a bad week... so, I thought we could do a girls’ day.” 

As if to emphasise her point, Ginny lifted a bright magenta bottle of something bubbly, her grin stretching impossibly wider as Hermione threw the door open, beckoning her inside.

Entering Hermione’s flat excitedly, Ginny Weasley took one look around before stopping dead in her tracks. “What in the blazes happened to your flat?” She stared with wide eyes around Hermione’s sitting area. “It looks like a library threw up in here—more so than usual.” 

There were books everywhere. There were books lining the windowsills in small piles. There were books balanced precariously along the sofa edges and the fireplace mantle—Ginny had been right to be shocked—A multitudes of books were scattered all over the tiny flat. No room had been left untouched and no surface had been left bare. 

“I may have borrowed a _few_ books from the Ministry archives.” Hermione mumbled, blushing under Ginny's knowing stare.

Picking up the book nearest to her, Ginny’s eyes only bulged further with shock upon reading the title. 

“ _Norridge’s guide to the perfect marriage-binding ritual: suitable for any witch or wizard._ ” She read aloud, her voice startlingly high pitched. 

“It’s not what you think.” Hermione stated hastily, cringing slightly at Ginny’s bewildered expression.

“Hermione Granger, you explain yourself right now!” Ginny demanded in a voice that distinctly reminded her of an irate Mrs. Weasley.

 _At least it wasn’t Ron or Harry,_ Hermione supposed.

“Find a place to sit, Ginny.” She sighed, thinking back to what Malfoy had told her. “You’re not going to believe me.”

* * *

  
“So, let me get this straight.” Ginny mumbled, looking over at Hermione for reassurance. “Malfoy is dying from Voldy’s curse — he doesn’t want your help — but you’re the only one who can help him?” 

“Something like that.” 

“Why you though?” Ginny asked, her brow wrinkled in confusion. 

“You really are related to Ron.” Hermione rolled her eyes playfully. “It’s easy to forget sometimes.”

"Very funny.” Ginny pouted, sticking her tongue out mockingly. “I'm trying to ask why _you_ are the only witch who can supposedly save him?”

“I’m — I’m still not sure.” She sighed, twisting a lock of her hair thoughtfully. “Though, I think it’s because of the soul-tethering ritual. Tethering two souls is no easy feat of magic.”

Hermione shuddered at the thought of performing the ritual to bind Malfoy’s soul to her own.

 _They would become Soulmates! Though, in the very literal sense of the word,_ she acknowledged, scoffing loudly at the thought of Malfoy hearing her use that term in reference to the two of them.

“I get why you would have to be magically proficient. Breaking a curse that powerful requires a lot of strength—and Malfoy can’t even use magic. It would all be down to you. Though, I don’t see why he couldn’t just bribe some 'pureblood princess’... and hope that nothing goes wrong.” 

“Are you offering your services, Miss Weasley?” Hermione pried in a mockingly serious tone. 

Both witches looked at one another in surprise before laughing hysterically. 

“Oh, Harry would just love that.” Ginny managed breathily, trying not to giggle. “Sorry Potter, I love you... but I’ve always dreamt of becoming a Malfoy.” 

Hermione laughed loudly as Ginny continued an animated portrayal of declaring her love for Malfoy. She could only laugh harder as Ginny proceeded to admit that she had always wondered if Weasley and Malfoy children would have red hair, white hair... or _pink_ hair.

Not long had passed before both witches were lying on the floor in the middle of Hermione’s flat, breathless from laughter and wide smiles brightening their faces. 

“Thank you, Ginny.” Hermione met the lively gaze of the redhead next to her. “I needed that.” 

“You take your work too seriously, Hermione. I still can’t believe that you’ve moved on from house-elves to endangered ferrets.” 

Hermione groaned whilst covering her face with her hands in embarrassment. “I wish that I could tell him what a pompous bigot he is—and to go soul bind with a mountain troll.”

“You should!”

“Yeah, that would go down well.” Hermione snorted, pursing her lips at the thought of confronting Malfoy again.

“No, Hermione. Send him a letter. You told me earlier that you were thinking of contacting the Malfoy’s if they hadn't approached you again by Sunday—Today is Sunday!"

She stared at Ginny in disbelief before her face broke out into what could only be described as a mischievous smile. 

“I need to find some parchment.” 

The two witches clambered around Hermione’s flat, searching hopelessly for a piece of parchment that had been left unscathed during her frantic researching all weekend. 

Finally, Ginny emerged from behind one of the sofas wielding a single piece of blank parchment in her hand as she excitedly shouted for Hermione to hurry over. 

However, upon lifting her quill to the page, Hermione found that her hand wouldn’t move—despite her intent. 

She simply couldn’t do it. 

How could she confront Malfoy after spending the whole week hiding somewhere between her guilt and anger. She had chosen to walk away and Malfoy had stuck to his decision... he didn't want Hermione Granger's help.

_There was only so much that she could do for a wizard who didn’t want to be saved._

Patting her back reassuringly, Ginny told her that it was okay—that _she_ would be okay. 

Nodding solemnly, Hermione put down the quill and parchment, tucking them away in a draw for safe keeping.

A whole week she had spent obsessing over Malfoy. A whole entire week had been dedicated to thoughts about saving him. She had even wasted countless work hours researching every book and magical record that she could find in the process. 

Though, Hermione was used to her research being rejected on a weekly basis. To her, Draco would just have to become another closed file unceremoniously dropped in the rejection corner of her mind. She would simply have to respect that Draco Malfoy would rather die than admit that he needed help from Hermione Granger.

Closing her eyes and sighing loudly, Hermione reached for her wand.

It had only taken a few moments before her small flat resembled a liveable space once more. The numerous books which Hermione had been using for research, had all been cleared and magically stored away. 

Draco’s ‘ _file_ ’ was now officially closed.

She was moving on.

The start of the new week was upon her, and Hermione had countless other folders on which to place her focus on.

Holding her head up high, she met Ginny’s approving smirk with a confident smile of her own.

If Draco wanted saving, he would have to come to her.


	6. Everything you thought you knew

It was a typical Wednesday morning. Typical, in that Hermione Granger was swamped with too much work and too little time to do everything.

The head of the DMLE’s Research Department—at the last minute—had ordered her to collect all the information she could find pertaining to an upcoming Wizangamot trial. Apparently, a wizard had been experimenting with levitation charms on livestock again, despite the Ministry’s previous warnings. This time, it had not gone unnoticed by muggles, as a herd of floating cows had been spotted in a field just outside of Glasgow yesterday morning. 

It had been a complete fiasco. Nearly every department within the Ministry had needed to get involved to contain the damage caused. 

_Clip. Clip. Clip._

Hermione listened to the sound of her _sensible_ heels echoing throughout the corridor. Sighing in frustration, she fumbled momentarily with a large stack of scrolls, trying to keep them balanced within her arms as she walked briskly through the Ministry. 

It was useless. 

With a quick swish of her wand, she cast a stasis charm on the scrolls before continuing at her determined pace towards the Head of the Research Department’s office. 

She was running late. 

Hermione Granger was never late... except for today. 

Damn these scrolls. The Head of the Research Department treated her like a personal assistant whenever he became blatantly uninterested in whatever case was soon to be brought before the Wizangamot. 

Today of all days, she had been sent deep within the Ministry archives to gather all the necessary information regarding levitation charms and the laws surrounding them. A task that was definitely not in her job description.

Just her luck.

The annual Wizarding Economic Conference was taking place that morning. All the magical economic sectors of wizarding Britain—and the corporations the sectors were comprised of, would be presenting their annual business pitches and projections in the hope of obtaining Ministry funding and exclusive Ministry contracts.

Despite the fact that there were numerous independently run businesses and stores within wizarding Britain, the majority of the market share was all controlled by a select few corporations. 

One’s potential business venture would have to be _supported_ by the ministry first, especially when dealing with muggle investments or international trades.

However, it was no secret that the Ministry’s decisions were based upon which corporation was in favour with the Ministry at the time, rather than what was in the public’s best interest. 

It was a rare occasion when a small business was approved for a Ministry funded project. Thus, the major corporations—and subsequently the pureblood families—controlled the majority of the magical economy as a result. 

It was no small coincidence that more than half of the gold in Gringotts belonged to only a handful of families.

Hermione fairly acknowledged that most of the old wizarding family corporations had started hundreds of years ago: growing in both wealth and influence over the many years. However, the practiced ease at which these corporations manipulated and bribed the Ministry with regards to obtaining exclusive trade contracts, was not something Hermione could easily condone.

She had made a point of attending every economic conference over the years, vainly hoping to accumulate enough evidence to oppose the particularly _underhanded_ Ministry funded contracts where she could.

Although she had never been successful, Hermione made a habit to keep trying.

They couldn’t ignore her forever.

Someday, she would figure out how to expose them.

* * *

  
It was a short while later when Hermione had managed to find a seat near the back of the large Ministry Auditorium.

This particular Auditorium, could seat hundreds of witches and wizards. The numerous, receding rows of chairs all curved around the central podium where the speakers would address both the Ministry and all those from the public who were in attendance this morning.

Not that it mattered. 

Hermione knew that the Ministry had already made all the respective deals with each corporation—off the record, of course. A quick handshake and a promise to support the next political campaign was all it took these days to gain Ministry support. 

The whole conference was a farce, a mere opportunity for the Ministry to show off.

She scowled at the sight of countless reporters sitting along the first few rows of seats nearest to the podium. Naturally, the Ministry wanted to publicise all the _great work_ they had generated within the magical community.

The Daily Prophet and every other Wizarding tabloid was certain to ensure _that._

With a deep sigh, she pulled out a neatly stacked bundle of parchment from her small bag. Laying the parchment on her lap, Hermione was about to reach for a quill when a brief flash of white-blonde hair caught her attention. 

Looking up, she almost dropped her stack of parchment in shock. As her froze momentarily at the sight before her, she gripped the pages with tight clenched fingers until the edges started to curl slightly. 

_What was he doing here?_

Standing near the doors to the bottom left, talking to Blaise Zabini, was Draco Malfoy.

Though, Hermione couldn’t help but notice that he looked… terrible. 

She had seen him just over a week prior and yet, he looked completely different. Cringing slightly at the thought of just how many _attacks_ he must have experienced since last Tuesday, Hermione had to remind herself to look away before he could notice her blatant staring. 

It was no use. He had seen her.

She hadn’t been able to tear her eyes away fast enough. Draco had looked up—and for just a single moment—their equally shocked gazes had met briefly. 

Hermione panicked noticeably as Draco proceeded to say something to Blaise whilst gesturing towards where she sat. Blaise grinned widely, answering him with a curt nod before making his way towards the opposite side of the Auditorium.

Draco, now alone, turned towards the flight of stairs that led directly up to where Hermione was currently sitting. 

_It was fine. This was fine,_ she thought, her pulse rising steadily. _Malfoy would just walk straight past her. There was no way that he would approach her—definitely not so publicly._

In the span of a few short breaths, Hermione’s shock only quadrupled as Draco ceased his ascent in line with her row of seats. 

_This could not be happening. Why had she chosen to sit so close to the aisle?_

Her cheeks flushed dramatically as she tried to look anywhere else but at Draco, who was currently appraising her with an intense expression. 

“Granger.” He greeted her stiffly. 

“Malfoy.” She replied evenly, reaching for her bag as she dug for her quill in an attempt to distract herself from his presence. 

He continued to watch her with narrowed eyes before he casually sat down in the vacant chair next to the aisle—right next to her own! 

“What are you doing?” Hermione almost squeaked, eyes widening at his choice of seat.

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his chair at Hermione’s question. “I—I wanted to say... thank you.” He murmured, his voice still stiff. 

Hermione gawked at his statement. He was _thanking_ her, for what?

Clearing his throat, Draco continued. “I wanted to thank you for not—for not going to the Daily Prophet... or telling the whole of the wizarding world that I still have an _active_ Dark Mark.” 

“I would never… ah… Malfoy, are you alright?” 

“It’s been a long week.” He admitted awkwardly, looking away from her own scrutinising gaze. 

His hair hung limply across his face and though it seemed almost impossible, he was even paler than before. She could practically see the pain swirling within his darkened, grey eyes. It was overwhelmingly clear that Draco had been suffering a lot since she had last seen him.

 _He didn’t want her help,_ she reminded herself firmly.“I—I understand.”

The Auditorium continued to fill with witches and wizards as the start of the conference drew nearer. 

Draco never moved from his seat. 

Hermione had assumed that he would move to another seat at the earliest possible chance. However, he continued to sit calmly next to her as if there were nowhere else he would rather be.

Fidgeting nervously with the quill between her fingers, she watched from the corner of her eye as Draco sat completely still; his attention was solely focused on the far right of the Auditorium where most of the economic representatives were sitting.

At eleven o’clock sharp, the Auditorium became abruptly silent as an old wizard dressed in bright turquoise Ministry robes, stood from his seat. Swiftly walking the short distance to the podium, the ministry official proceeded to address the audience: commencing the start of the conference with a rather dull speech. 

One by one, each corporate representative took to the podium to brag about their latest improvements and contributions to the magical community. About an hour had passed and Draco had made neither a single movement nor any further attempts to interact with her.

Trying to focus on the rhythmic scratching of her quill against the parchment, Hermione continued to meticulously take notes on what each representative was saying. However, she could barely concentrate through each speech without stealing a glance towards Draco. 

This whole situation was messing with her nerves. _Why was Malfoy still sitting next to her?_ She wondered irritably.

When the current speaker finally ended his particularly long speech, Hermione let out a large sigh. _How much longer would she be able to endure this awkwardness?_

Next up to speak was Sebastian Nott: uncle to Theodore Nott and the current Head of Nott Industries. Hermione flipped over to a fresh piece of parchment before she noticed Malfoy immediately stiffen at the sight of Mr. Nott stepping up to the podium. 

Glancing down to where his hands were clenched firmly around the edge of his seat, she arched her brows at his unsettling display of emotion upon the sight of Sebastian Nott. 

“Malfoy.” She whispered apprehensively. “What’s gotten into you?” 

Draco snapped his head towards her, his gaze instantly flicking downward to the parchment resting in her lap. With his gaze moving to linger on her quill, poised eagerly to write notes, his eyes brightened perceptively as the corners of his mouth tugged upwards into an amused smirk.

Trying not to become self-conscious under Draco’s sudden scrutiny, Hermione continued to fidget uneasily while doing her best to ignore him for the second time that day. Crossing her legs, she settled upon jotting down all the international sales figures Mr. Nott was currently boasting about. However, Sebastian Nott had already been speaking for about fifteen minutes when she realised that Draco had yet to look away from her.

“What?” Hermione breathed sharply. 

He simply regarded her contemplatively. “Are you really serious about trying to change the Ministry?”

She fixed Draco with a pointed glare. “Obviously.”

“You’ll never succeed.”

“I do not care for your opinion, Malfoy.” 

“You’re going about it all wrong, Granger.” He whispered, chuckling under his breath. “If you’re determined to start dabbling in Politics, you don’t start in the courtroom—everyone knows that.” 

“That’s illogical.”

“If you want to change any laws, you’ll need to start getting people to pay attention to _why_ the laws need to be changed—not just for you, but for them. No one is going to support something unless they can see how it benefits them too.”

“That’s terrible reasoning.”

“That’s politics.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?” Hermione challenged, arching her brow. 

“This, is your perfect opportunity—not for taking notes!” His voice rose to just above a whisper as she gestured to the stack of parchment in her lap. “You can’t approach politics head on like that.”

“There’s no other way to get the Ministry’s attention.” She grumbled under her breath, jabbing her finger on top of her parchment pointedly. “You have to fight to be taken seriously around here. I’m forming a well researched case.”

Draco ignored Hermione’s flustered state as he added. “We both know this is all for show. A way for the Ministry to _preen_ under the spotlight regarding all the _good_ they’re doing for the magical community.”

Hermione huffed, nodding her head in silent agreement.

“So, change the public perception.”

Her eyes widened briefly with surprise before narrowing once more. “That’s precisely what I’ve been trying to do.” 

“I told you, Granger. You’re going about it all wrong. You have to make the right moves—apply pressure to the right _weak points_.”

“What ‘ _weak points’?_ What do you know about politics?” 

“More than you’ll ever know.”

“Sipping firewhiskey at elaborate galas does not make you an expert on Ministry politics.” Hermione sniffed, raising her head in a show of disbelief. 

“I’ll prove it to you.” He drawled, leaning back in his chair with a smug smile.

“How?”

Holding his hand up in a gesture for Hermione to wait, Draco sat silently for a few moments, listening attentively to what Mr. Nott was currently saying. 

“Just listen to me and do as I say.” He suddenly hissed under his breath, his eyes still fixed directly on Mr. Nott.

“What?” 

“Put your hand up, Granger.” 

“Why?” She asked nervously, her gaze lingering over the hundreds of wizards and witches seated within the Auditorium. 

“Because for years, I’ve longed to see your swotty hand raised in the air just one last time before I die.” He bit out sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “Just put your hand up.” 

“Why are you helping me?”

“Don’t you trust me?” Draco’s smirk widened as he reagarded her pinched expression. “Relax, Granger. I have my own reasons in this particular instance.”

“What am I supposed to say to Mr. Nott?” She pried anxiously. “And why would I trust _you_?”

“You can trust me in _this._ I’ll tell you what to say.”

Still glaring at him suspiciously, Hermione slowly raised her hand in the air.

“No one can see you sitting all the way up here, get his attention.” 

_Well, if she was going to do this,_ she thought, _she might as well do it properly._ Pulling her wand out from the inside of her sleeve, Hermione subtly cast the ‘ _sonorus_ ’ charm. Lifting her wand up steadily before her, she attempted her best impression of Dolores Umbridge.

 _“Hem-hem.”_ She cleared her thought.

Hermione’s one hand remained high in the air whilst the other held her wand at just the right angle for her voice to be projected clearly and loudly across the Auditorium. 

Mr. Nott stopped talking abruptly. Shuffling his papers upon the podium in annoyance, he glanced upwards to discern who could possibly be the cause of such a disturbance. It took only a moment before his beady eyes settled upon the small form of Hermione Granger: sitting near the back of the Auditorium, confidently raising her hand for all to see. 

The Auditorium became abuzz with a low murmur as the audience assessed the sudden rise in tension. No one ever interrupted the speakers, definitely not a speaker in charge of such a powerful corporation like Nott Industries. 

“You have a question?” Mr. Nott drawled, notably unimpressed with the interruption. 

“Stand, Granger.” Draco whispered. 

Hermione stood up calmly, levelling Mr. Nott with a stoic expression as she began to repeat everything Draco was discreetly instructing her to say.

_“Mr. Nott, you claimed that Nott Industries experienced a profit margin increase of over sixteen percent within the last annum?”_

“That is correct—” Sebastian Nott bristled proudly.

 _“However.”_ Hermione cut him off mid-sentence. _“There have been numerous reports that Nott Industries’ is behind the recent potion ingredient shortage across Britain... intentionally withholding stocks in order to increase both the demand and prices of many common ingredients.”_

“Preposterous!—”

_“Whilst St. Mungo’s has reported a severe decrease in successful patient recovery due to their critical lack of a sustainable ingredient supply. Tell me, Mr. Nott... is it true that Nott Industries is responsible for more than seventy percent of all potion ingredient trades across Britain, particularly with St. Mungo’s?”_

Sebastian Nott gaped at her in both shock and anger. 

“Look at him squirm.” Draco sneered viciously. “Nott Industries is clearly guilty of manipulating the ingredient supply across wizarding Britain.” 

Hermione, not realising that he had finished instructing her on what to say, repeated his mocking statement for the whole Auditorium to hear. 

_“Look at him squirm... Nott Industries is clearly guilty of manipulating the ingredient supply across wizarding Britain.”_

The Auditorium erupted with loud chatter as Sebastian Nott scurried away from the podium, desperately trying to avoid the multiple flashes of cameras and questions suddenly been directed at him. He hadn’t even attempted to dispute the accusations.

It had worked! She had exposed Nott Industries before the Ministry officials, the reporters, and a large majority of the public too.

Hermione sat down with a triumphant grin stretched across her face.

_She had done it._

_Malfoy had... Malfoy had helped her._

_How did he know that Nott Industries was involved in such a scandal?_

She herself had failed to realise that anything was amiss regarding the current potion ingredient shortage affecting the magical community. 

In fact, everything she thought she knew about the magical community and Ministry politics, now seemed irrelevant.

Hermione was so busy musing over what had just happened—and how—that she failed to notice the stunned expression Draco had been looking at her with since she had so openly mocked Mr. Nott by repeating that last statement.

If she had looked over... If she had merely spared a single glance to meet his watchful gaze... she would have seen the small, proud smile that had appeared for just a moment on Draco’s features before he hastily schooled his emotions once more and looked away. 

* * *

  
The moment the conference had been dismissed for a short break, Draco had bolted from his seat and disappeared into the mass of witches and wizards leaving the Auditorium. Hermione blinked rapidly in confusion as she watched him weave determinedly through the jostling crowd, making his way towards the doors. 

After her confrontation with Mr. Nott, she had tried to gain Draco’s attention again. However, he had remained distant and quiet once more—refusing to meet her questioning gaze nor uttering a single word further. 

He had helped her and yet, he had receded straight back into his hateful demeanour before she could even thank him. 

Though Draco had stated that he had his own reasons for calling out Nott Industries, she was still baffled as to why he had bothered to act so _nice_ to her, only to resume his usual, distant conduct immediately afterwards. 

Earlier, he had made a point to greet her politely enough, but he hadn’t even cared to say goodbye merely an hour or so later. Hermione was starting to believe what Narcissa had said about Draco's _condition_ making him act so out of character at times. 

_He_ had chosen to approach her. _He_ had chosen to sit next to her. _He_ had chosen to help her... so why had he fled so suddenly afterwards? 

_Wait..._

_He had chosen to approach her!_

Hermione gasped as her eyes darted over the crowd once more, searching for the familiar head of white hair. If she found him, she would be able to demand an explanation.

_Had this been Draco’s attempt to approach her regarding the curse?_

Jumping to her feet, she hurried from the Auditorium, craning her neck as she sought to peer over the crowds of witches and wizards standing just beyond the entrance—all of them discussing the events of the conference so far.

He was nowhere to be seen. Draco Malfoy was already gone.

Wanting to move away from the mulling crowds, she was about to make her leave when she turned around and walked straight into the person standing directly behind her.

“Hello, Hermione.” A dreamy, feminine voice sounded, ignoring the fact that Hermione had just bounded into her. “I noticed you are looking for someone; are you alright?” 

She perked up immediately at the pleasant sight of Luna Lovegood standing before her. 

“Luna!” She smiled brightly, enveloping the witch in a friendly hug. “What are you doing here?” 

“Dad couldn’t make it, I’m here to represent the Quibbler.” The blonde witch replied cheerfully, holding up a stack of magazines for Hermione to see. “Would you like one? I’ve been handing them out. There’s a rather interesting article about why toads are more sensitive to magic than frogs.”

“Thanks, Luna.” She took one of the magazines with a polite smile towards the bright cover. “Did you happen to see where Draco Malfoy went?”

“I saw him disappear down the main corridor before you exited the Auditorium. He looked very confused—must be from all the wrackspurts floating around, what with so many people.” Luna finished in a serious tone, glancing around at the numerous witches and wizards still standing about. 

Hermione frowned at Luna’s revelation. Draco had definitely left the Ministry already if he had taken the corridor leading directly to the Atrium—the corridor leading directly to the floo connections. 

“I saw you sitting next to him, you know. You were whispering to each other, whilst you were questioning Nott, too... are you friends now?”

“No, Malfoy and I aren’t _friends._ I really can’t tell you why Luna, I’m sorry.” 

“Is it because of the curse?” Luna blinked at Hermione, her expression now curious. 

“How do you know that Malfoy is cursed?” She stared at the unassuming witch before her with newfound awe. _Would Luna Lovegood ever stop surprising her?_

“He came to speak with Ralph once, years ago. He was looking for unicorn blood... Though, Ralph did manage to convince him otherwise. Good thing that he did, really. I imagine he would have been less of himself than he already is.” 

“He what?! Never mind.” Hermione sighed, placing her hand over her forehead as she focused on breathing calmly.“Lady Malfoy wants me to save him.” 

Letting the events of the previous week flow through her mind once more, she proceeded to tell Luna everything that had happened between herself and Draco—including how he had helped her stand up to one of the largest pureblood corporations only moments before.

Curious to hear what Luna’s perspective would be, Hermione waited patiently while the surprisingly insightful witch pondered over all that she had said.

“Hmmm.” Luna looked at her thoughtfully. “I suppose it is a difficult decision to make—Malfoy’s that is. One’s soul is not to be readily tampered with.”

“He’s dying Luna, it can’t be _that_ hard of a decision for him to make.” 

“Maybe.” A sad smile tugged at Luna’s expression. “Although, I think he must be rather confused right now, considering that he’s losing the one reason he had to ignore your existence.” 

Hermione snorted. “What, that I’m supposedly the only witch who can save his life?” 

“No, that before recently… He had never truly spoken to you before. If I were Malfoy, I would find it much easier to disregard someone if I knew nothing _real_ about them.”

Hermione grimaced as she contemplated Luna’s words. 

Was Luna, right? Had she actually gotten through to Malfoy last week? Is that why he had shown up today, not just to thank her—but to approach her?

Draco _had_ looked particularly unwell today... 

Steeling a glance towards the main corridor where Draco had exited through not too long before, Hermione wondered if she was ready to confront him about the curse again.


	7. Even the gods surrender sometimes

A faint tapping on Hermione’s kitchen window pulled her from her thoughts. Placing her cup of tea on the countertop next to her, she opened the window to let the delivery owl through. 

The rather fluffy, tawny owl swooped in and dropped the latest edition of the Daily Prophet onto the kitchen countertop. After holding out its leg for Hermione to place exactly three knuts into the small leather pouch, the owl promptly disappeared back through the window before she could even notice today’s news headline.

Reaching for the paper with interest, her breath caught in her throat as she glanced over the front page. 

_‘NOTT INDUSTRIES UNDER INVESTIGATION!’_

Gripping the paper with excitement, the cup of tea lay forgotten as Hermione devoured every word on the front page. Nott industries was being investigated... Sebastian Nott was due to appear before the Wizangamot within the month...

A closer inspection into Nott industries had uncovered probable cause for suspicion regarding the recent potion ingredient shortage. The public outrage—particularly towards St. Mungo’s being negatively affected—had enforced the Ministry to take immediate action. Reading further, Hermione assessed that Sebastian Nott had been asked to temporarily step down as the Head of Nott Industries for the duration of the investigation, and none other than Theodore Nott had been elected as his replacement. 

_Malfoy would probably be pleased with that outcome,_ she mused. 

“Malfoy!” Hermione gasped out loud, letting the paper flop back onto the counter. 

_This was all because of Draco’s help..._

For months, she had been desperately trying to get the Wizangamot to pay attention to _any_ of her appeals. Countless folders read and revised, countless hours spent hunched over dusty books and barely legible scrolls, and in merely a few minutes, Draco had achieved what she hadn’t been able to. 

_That damn, no-good-for-anything Malfoy..._

Furiously ranting under her breath, Hermione yanked her coat off from its hook on the wall as she stormed towards the front door. Slamming the door behind her in her haste, she disappeared down the hallway to the echoing sound of its rattling wooden frame. 

She was done playing nice and respectively sitting back whilst Malfoy refused to even acknowledge her. 

Today, she had a ferret to confront.

* * *

Hermione landed just beyond the Malfoy apparition wards with a resounding crack. Looking up from the same spot where she had stood just over a week prior, Malfoy Manor consumed her vision once more, though, it looked considerably less foreboding in the bright sunlight of the morning.

Determinedly walking up to the large, black gates, Hermione barely had time to be surprised when they automatically swung open again, permitting her entrance into the vast estate without an invitation. 

Narrowing her gaze at a brilliant white peacock strutting across the gravel path before her, she didn’t even flinch when it squawked loudly upon her passing. 

_She couldn’t hesitate. Not now..._

Hermione knew that she needed to make it into the Manor before either of the Malfoy’s noticed the intrusion—And she wouldn’t be leaving until Malfoy had finally answered the one question which still harassed her every thought.

_Why her?_

Nearing the front entrance, she steeled her emotions as she prepared to demand for an audience with Draco Malfoy. However, it wasn’t long before the same house-elf that had greeted her previously, was once again leading her through the darkened hallways of Malfoy Manor. The house-elf hadn’t even blinked at the sight of Hermione standing in the front entrance. Considering her impromptu arrival, she had expected at least _some_ resistance from the dutiful creature.

Nothing. 

She had been simply allowed to walk right into Manor unfettered.

When the house-elf had proceeded to take her to ‘ _young master Malfoy_ ’, she could only follow suspiciously as it continued to mumble under its breath, its ears bobbing as it stomped along with her in tow. 

It was almost as if she had been expected to show up... 

After a few tense minutes, the house-elf halted before one of the large sets of doors along the first floor. Noticing the intricate golden detailing that swirled over the patterns in the wood, Hermione stilled immediately as she assessed the sinister doors before her.

_She knew this room._

_She had been in this room before._

_She had been tortured in this room during the war._

Holding her breath, Hermione slowly pushed one of the heavy doors open, slipping through into the cold room before she could change her mind. 

_She could do this._

_She had to do this._

With eyes lingering over the harrowing marble tiles to where she had lain a few years before, Hermione realised that it was like being drawn into a nightmare. Everything seemed so distant and yet, so horrifyingly real. 

_The war was over... Voldemort was dead... Bellatrix was dead... She was safe now, wasn’t she?_

Hermione looked up as she caught a glimpse of movement from across the room. 

“I told you, mother.” Draco’s voice rang out in frustration. “I want to be left alone.” 

Taking in the sight of him from across the room, it was like reliving the previous Tuesday evening all over again. Only this time, it was much worse. She no longer held the hope of removing the curse and saving his life. No, Draco Malfoy was merely a dying wizard, standing with his back towards her once more, still wanting to be left alone. 

_And she would leave him be... after he answered her question..._

“Why am I the only one who can save you?” Hermione asked confidently, her voice rebounding clearly within the otherwise desolate room. 

Draco turned around abruptly, his expression darkening as he took in the sight of her. “Granger, what the fuck are you doing here?” 

Still irritated, she stalked across the room, each step bringing her closer to Draco, who was retreating backwards towards the wall in an attempt to distance himself from the irate witch. “Nice to see you too, Malfoy.” She spat angrily, cornering him between herself and the wall.

“How did you get in?” He demanded.

Hermione smirked as she observed Draco glance nervously around the room, looking for a way to escape her oppressive stance.

“It seems that I still have free entry to Malfoy Manor.” 

His eyes snapped up to meet her own as he breathed out sharply. “Obviously, I need to have a word with my _dear_ mother... _again.”_

“At least your mother is more polite to _guests_.” She huffed pointedly. “And that’s saying something.”

“Go to hell, Granger!” 

“What’s the point? You’ll probably be joining me soon after.” 

Draco’s body trembled as he turned his head away from her, closing his eyes. “I cannot have this argument with you again.” His voice was low and broken as he continued. “I came here to avoid my mother... she won’t come in here… I can’t do this... not today.” 

Her irritation collapsed as she regarded his defeated posture. She hadn’t even given any thought to what manner of health he would be in today. Although he looked considerably better than he had the day before, she could still see the dark rings under his eyes, and she had noticed the stiff way his body reacted with his every movement. 

He was weak.

Too weak to uphold his usual, snobbish temperament. She never thought the day would come, when Draco Malfoy wouldn’t have the energy to bite back at her. _How could she be angry with someone, who was clearly still in so much pain?_

“I wanted to thank you.” She uttered softly, taking a few steps back as she abandoned her previous reproach.

Despite his obvious discomfort, he leered at her words. “Do not presume that my act of thanking you yesterday, has given you the right to treat me as a friend.” 

“We are definitely not friends.” Hermione stated resolutely. “I’m trying to thank you for instructing me—for helping me—against Nott Industries yesterday. I saw the article in the Daily Prophet this morning, It worked!” 

“I assure you, Granger, I did not do it for _you_. Take your gratitude elsewhere. It will never happen again.” 

“Why did you do it then?” 

“Call it an act of penance... for an old friend.” 

“Theo Nott.” She breathed, her eyes widening upon the realisation. “You knew that he would be instated as the new Head of Nott Industries.” 

“Aren’t you observant.” Draco stared at her blankly.

“You never told me why it had to be me?” 

“Well, it could have been anyone... Honestly, I wasn’t even planning on it, but you were so willing, and what better way to appeal to the public than through the voice of one so… _heroic_.” 

“Why do I have to be the one to save you, Malfoy?” She reiterated sharply.

Draco’s careful disposition dropped effectively at her question. Shuddering visibly, he leant against the wall in a move that Hermione had come to recognise was an indication of his weakening resolve. Seeing this, she hoped that he wouldn’t argue with her anymore; he clearly didn’t have the energy to spare...

“Why does your mother think that only I can save you? I read about soul-tethering—everything I could get my hands on.” Noticing the way his jaw clenched at her words, she calmly pressed further. “It’s a complex ritual, but there’s no shortage of capable witches across the world.” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“I know exactly what I’m talking about—what I’m asking.” 

“It’s not... I don’t _have_ to tether my soul to _you_.” He rasped, staring over her head towards the other side of the room, his attention elsewhere.

“You said that I was the _only one_ , Malfoy. The curse is latched onto your soul. We both know that the only way to save you, is to anchor your soul so that it doesn’t get ripped apart when the curse is torn from you.” Hermione sniffed, placing her hands on her hips. “I did my research too.”

“It’s not because you’re the only one I can bind myself to. Soul-tethering, it’s part of it, but, you’re right, there are many adequate witches capable of succeeding with such spell-work...” He sighed shakily. “It’s because you’re the only one left who can perform the ritual to remove the curse, Granger.” 

“What? That’s ridiculous! If there’s a ritual that can remove the curse, why would your mother _insist_ that I need to be soul-tethered to you too? It doesn’t make sense, you said there was no other way.”

“You really _have_ to know?” Draco grit out between his teeth, moving away from the wall. “Fine. Have it your way. The sooner you know, the sooner you’ll leave again.” 

“That’s not fair— ”

“Skabby!” He called out, cutting her off with a hard glare. 

Hermione startled as the same house-elf she had come to recognise, suddenly appeared next to Draco, bowing so low that the tip of its nose brushed the floor.

“Young master Malfoy.” The house-elf croaked as a greeting.

“Fetch me the book, you know which one.” 

The house-elf bowed deeply in reply, its floppy ears now grazing the floor. Hermione continued to watch with a stunned expression as the house-elf disappeared and then reappeared within moments, clutching an old, leather-bound book in its arms—a book which was almost the size of the elf.

With a nod of his head, Draco dismissed the elf after taking the book.

“Knock yourself out, Granger.” He sneered, shoving the book forward into the space between them. 

Hermione’s hands immediately reached out to take the book from him. However, in her haste, her warm, eager fingers brushed over his own cold hand as she sought to obtain a grip on the rather heavy, magical tome. Stiffening immediately at the contact, Draco ripped his hand away, clenching his fingers at his side while Hermione had barely managed to catch the carelessly dropped book.

Narrowing her gaze at him in disbelief, she curiously raised the book up before her. “It’s written in… Latin?” She checked, marvelling at how old this book must be. 

“Most of it.” He rolled his eyes at her awed expression. “My own additions are all in English, look for those.” 

Hermione furrowed her brow at the thought of Malfoy marring such an old magical tome with his own notes, but after flicking through a few pages, she could only be impressed. Draco’s notes were… they were perfect; the details and penmanship were beyond amazing. He really _had_ spent years consulting with various professionals whilst researching ways to combat the curse. Every addition he had made, supported and extended upon the information already held within each page.

Skimming over a few of Malfoy’s written entries, Hermione realised what he had been trying to do. “You’re trying to combine the soul-tethering ritual with the ritual needed to remove the Dark Mark?”

“Yes.” Draco admitted stiffly.

“That’s impossible!” 

“It’s not.” He snapped, glaring at her in exasperation. “I thought so too at first. It took me three years... but I discovered a way.”

“Combining two rituals is dangerous. Experimenting with different rituals was ruled out decades ago.” Hermione was anxious to protest further before she caught sight of Draco’s expression. “Right... sorry.” She cleared her throat awkwardly. “You obviously know this already.”

Nodding sharply, he resumed his explanation. “Combining two rituals _is_ dangerous. You have to find a link between the two—a strong link. It took me a while, but I figured it out. There’s a way to combine a blood-magic ritual with a soul-binding ritual. It’s all ancient spell-work and requires... a lot, however, it is very much _possible_.” 

“You’ve altered a blood-magic ritual to remove the curse? A blood-magic ritual combined with a soul-binding ritual… That’s brilliant.” Pausing to think, she slowly let out a deep breath. "With the blood-magic ritual, you’re approaching the curse at its basis. The Dark Mark ritual was never completed so it’s not fully bound to your body, blood-magic will remove it’s hold.”

Again, Draco merely nodded in affirmation. 

“I still don’t understand why you would need to perform both rituals simultaneously. Why couldn’t you just figure out a way for me to remove the curse after you’ve bound yourself to a more _suitable_ witch?”

“You’re asking too many questions with obvious answers, Granger.” He stated evenly before proceeding to answer her anyway. “The curse cannot be removed after the soul-tethering—it wouldn’t work—the curse would just latch onto the connection with the other soul; I think you can imagine what would happen then.” 

“The curse would...” She paused, seemingly conflicted with her conclusion. “It would take the other person’s life, claiming their soul instead.” Hermione paled significantly at the thought. Soul-tethering rituals and blood-magic rituals were complicated enough already, the curse was indeed proving to be a formidable opponent. 

“And the curse cannot be removed before the soul-tethering ritual, for reasons we have already discussed. It’s anchored across my soul, removing the curse without binding my soul first... it would tear me apart in the process.” Draco ran his fingers through his hair as he stood before her dejectedly.

Satisfied with his explanation, Hermione resumed flipping through the pages of the book, her eyes searching for the one page she knew she needed to read. There it was, the latest entry; the notes pertaining to the finalised ritual. The descriptive details for the combined blood-magic ritual and soul-tethering ritual, it was all there, glaring up from the page in Draco’s diligent penmanship.

Every detail was perfectly explained down to the precise wand movements and pronunciations of each enchantment. Each runic transliteration had also been meticulously researched and drawn by hand. Even the Latin enchantments had been translated into English. At a closer look, Hermione noticed that the books’ corresponding page numbers and references to various sources, had also been carefully recorded next to each element the ritual entailed. 

_This was not the work of someone who wanted to die,_ she thought, frowning slightly. 

Reading further, her thoughts halted upon one of the entries.

_’Ultra Velum Animarum.’_

“The Veil of Souls.” She whispered in awe, noting the translation. 

“It’s a historic, magical artefact that was used in many of the ancient soul-binding rituals.” He began to explain. “It’s located in—”

“The Department of Mysteries.” Hermione finished his sentence, her hands trembling as she gripped the book tighter. 

Draco arched his brow curiously but neither commented nor asked how she knew about the veil.

Refocusing on the book, Hermione could feel her heart beating steadily against her chest. She had been wrong, combining the two rituals was indeed possible. The spell-work and ceremonial processions within both rituals seemed to intricately dance around one another. Each enchantment complemented and fuelled the next; the magic was seamless. Malfoy had stripped both rituals down to their roots before layering them on top of one another again: alternating every step, every spell and movement, piece by piece. 

The magical core of the combined ritual—the magical link—it held all the different elements together without falter. 

In the blood-magic ritual needed to remove the Dark Mark: the link provided a surge of magical energy into the severing enchantment and amplified the castor’s control of the ritual. In the soul-tethering ritual needed to anchor Draco’s soul: the magical link interwove with the raw magic of the soul binding enchantment, binding the two magical elements of ‘body’ and ‘soul’ together seamlessly. Without the magical link, combining the two rituals wouldn’t be possible. 

_This was what he had been hiding,_ she realised. The magical link—which Draco had underlined at the bottom of the page—stared up at her tauntingly. 

_‘Magicis sanguinem novi.’_

Her eyes shot up to meet his own expectant gaze, but she didn’t need to read the translation to know what that sentence meant. 

_‘New magical blood.’_

Or as most would call it, ‘ _Muggleborn blood.’_

Draco needed the blood of a muggleborn to combine the two rituals. Not just muggleborn blood in itself. No, he needed the blood of the castor—the muggleborn—performing the combined ritual. The magical link formed a bond between not just the two rituals, but with the magic of the castor too.

It was absolute... 

A muggleborn would need to save Draco Malfoy. 

* * *

  
“You need me to remove your curse because I’m a _muggleborn_?” Hermione seethed, shoving the book harshly against his chest before he could bring his arms up to stop her. “You arrogant, shameless toe-rag.” 

“I would have expected laughter, Granger.” Draco gasped, trying to catch his winded breath after Hermione’s assault with the heavy book.

“There are hundreds of muggleborns across the world, and you’re placing this on _me_?!” 

“My mother approached you, don’t bring me into this.” 

“Oh no you don’t, Malfoy. You’re all over this.” She pointed at him accusingly. “You could have chosen to be saved by any other muggleborn witch—months ago!” 

Draco laughed coldly. “None of them would help me, is _that_ what you want to hear? That after I realised there was no other solution, I was rejected by more muggleborn witches than I ever thought possible.” His demeanour shifted with his every word. His expression hardening, he glared at Hermione as if he were challenging her to doubt him again. “They all took one look at my Dark Mark and refused to even hear what I had to say.”

“You could have bound yourself to a muggleborn wizard.” 

“We both know that soul-tethering is more concrete than any marriage binding ritual.” 

“What’s wrong with marrying a wizard?” Hermione countered, arching her brow. “It’s not a _loving_ relationship that you’re after.”

“Nothing, except for the explicit reason that a Malfoy needs an heir.” His features remained pinched as he looked at her. “You know that after being soul-bonded, I will never be able to look for... _company_ elsewhere.”

“You never said anything about heirs!”

“One would think that it was clearly stipulated, Granger.” He drawled emotionlessly. “I thought you read the Malfoy marriage proposal contract.” 

“I had more pressing matters on my mind than to worry about the fine-print.” Hermione grumbled in defence. The notion of needing to extend the Malfoy line hadn’t seemed important to her whilst researching dark curses. 

“Regardless, it doesn’t matter. Even if I wanted to explore _alternative_ options to solving this—and believe me, I have looked into it—there’s no way to perform both rituals simultaneously without a magically proficient and _willing_ muggleborn witch... or wizard.” Draco breathed sharply through his nose before continuing. “Everything else, it’s all irrelevant... Its not even an issue right now, and it probably never will be. Tell me, Granger, do you know any muggleborns who would willingly sacrifice their own wants, who would risk their own life on the _slight_ chance that they would be able to successfully perform a soul-tethering ritual whilst simultaneously removing Voldemort’s curse?”

Hermione stared at him with a defeated look. _What sane muggleborn would ever do that?_

“I thought so.” He scoffed, dropping the book onto the floor without care. “Not even the Malfoy gold would entice a muggleborn to risk so much for a former Death Eater—I tried that route too.” 

“You never came to me... why?” She breathed shakily, still staring at Draco with wide eyes. 

“One would think that, that too, would have been obvious, Granger.”

She couldn’t believe it. Either he really was an idiot and didn’t want her help, or he didn’t think that she would _want_ to help him. Yes, Malfoy was a cowardly, selfish bully, but that didn’t mean that she would just let him suffer and die from such a horrible curse.

“I would have... I _will_ help you.” 

Draco’s hands twitched slightly at Hermione’s statement. 

“I told you that I didn’t want your help, Granger.” He replied flatly, refusing to show any emotion.

_Why did Malfoy have to be so stubborn?_

“I’m not asking for your permission.” Hermione bristled, folding her arms across her chest. 

“I won’t let you help me—and don’t you dare remind me that I’m dying—I don’t need your pity.” 

“You don’t have it... not entirely.” She amended, noticing him narrow his eyes. “I–I also need something from you.” 

“Oh, a Gryffindor trying to construct a deal.” Draco drawled bitterly. “This should be interesting.” 

“Yesterday, with Nott Industries... with your guidance... I’ve never seen that type of reaction from the Ministry before; never from something that _I’ve_ said or done.” Hermione breathed in deeply as she fought to stay in control of her shaking voice. “Even with the Malfoy name, if I were to bind myself to you, it would never be enough. I don’t—I don’t know the politics surrounding the Ministry, not like I thought I did. Creating laws for house-elves is one thing, but wizards and witches… I’ve never been _great_ with people. I want you to teach me.” 

“You want me to _what_?”

Hermione stood up straighter. “If I save you. You have to teach me how to get my way with the Ministry.” 

“You want to _control_ the Ministry of Magic? That’s a little ambitious for a _muddy lion_ , don’t you think?” 

“I can do it... with your help.” 

“Well, it’s too bad that I don’t want your help, Granger.” 

“I know you’re desperate, Malfoy. Why else would you have bothered to approach me yesterday?” She levelled him with a confident look. “You said it yourself, there’s no one else but me who would go through with the combined ritual. Technically, your decision has been made for you.” 

“Don’t you dare say that.” He had visibly angered towards her. “I told you, I will never let anyone make my decisions for me again.” 

“Is that what’s stopping you, fear? Or are you going to just wither away because you’re too proud to admit that you need my help?” 

“It’s too late for me, Granger.” His hands continued to shake with a slight tremor as he spoke.

“How much longer do you have?” She questioned bluntly, observing his weakened state once more. He really did look as if he were constantly being put under the cruciatus. 

His darkened gaze flashed with annoyance as he noticed her concerned appraisal. “I told you that I don’t want your pity.” 

“How long, Malfoy?” 

“A few weeks, maybe.” He replied, growling under his breath. “The attacks are getting worse. They’re occurring more frequently and are increasingly… unbearable.” Draco moved his shaking hands behind his back. “You’ve noticed my appearance, It’s been taking me longer to recover lately. I suspect that soon, I’ll stop recovering at all.” 

Hermione sucked in a shallow breath. _Weeks_ , the thought filled her with dread. _Malfoy had mere weeks left to live._

“Let me help you.” She insisted. “Please.”

“You think it’s an easy decision, tethering your soul to someone? To someone you don’t even care for.” He asked, incredulous. “You come here—unannounced—and you think that I’m going to just change my mind about binding myself to you, simply because you want me to?” 

“Yes, I do.” She stood her ground. “I know that you want to live, just as much as _I_ want you to.” 

“Why do you care if I live?” 

“Everyone deserved to be saved from Voldemort, and I’m sorry that you weren’t.” She moved forward, slowly closing the distance between them once more. “That night, when you could have identified us, you didn’t. Inadvertently, you saved our lives. Maybe, you didn’t do it for us… but right here, in this room, you chose a side. The fact that the curse is killing you right now, is a testament to that.” 

Hermione watched him closely. He had stood listening to her with his jaw clenched tightly, his whole body occasionally twitching with a slight tremor that seemed to be getting worse. _Was he even considering her offer?_ She wondered, though, before she could say anything further, Draco broached the tense silence that had stretched between them after her statement. 

“You will help me, if I help you with the Ministry?” 

“Yes.” She nodded slowly, slightly taken aback by his hoarse tone. The irony was not lost on her that here she was, standing before Malfoy, in the very room he had watched her get tortured in, wanting to save his life.

“You don’t expect anything else from me?” Draco straightened to his full height as he regarded her intensely. “I will never love you. I will never want for you. This _arrangement..._ it’s all that there will ever be between us.” 

“I’m aware.” Hermione tilted her head to match his own gaze. “You’ll remember that I _did_ read the Malfoy marriage proposal contract.” 

He nodded stoically. “Did you bring it with you?” 

“What...” She paused, confused. “ _Why_?” 

“Because, I’m going to need you to sign it.” 


	8. The point of no return

Draco stood before Hermione with an unreadable expression masking his face. Outwardly, he remained impassive, though, Hermione could see the hints of strong emotions within his eyes as he stared at her, waiting for an answer.

If she weren’t so absorbed in the numbness spurred by her shock, she might have felt the need to look away, but she simply couldn’t muster the resolve to tear her own eyes from his darkened gaze.   
  
_He had agreed..._

Malfoy had asked her—no, informed her—to sign the contract.

This was not an emotional declaration on his behalf. This was not Draco on his knees, begging for her to save his life. This was a deal being made, a formal contract established between them, and nothing more. 

_‘He would never love her’_

“Of course, I don’t have that ridiculous contract with me, Malfoy.” Hermione bristled, suppressing the blush which threatened to form on her cheeks. “I um… I _stored_ it... in the fireplace.” 

“You’re telling me that you burnt the Malfoy marriage proposal contract?” His emotionless façade flickered for a moment as he spoke. “Interesting.” 

“Well, what else was I going to do with it?” 

Draco paused as if he were going to say something before an arrogant smirk slowly spread across his face. “I should have known you would do something so asinine.” Sighing with exaggeration, he added. “Follow me, Granger, and try not to get lost.” 

Without waiting for a response, Draco turned and walked towards the two large doors, disappearing from the room before she could process what was happening. 

_Typical_ , she thought. _He hadn’t even had the sense to wait for her._

Hermione made to follow, moving towards one of the doors he had surprisingly left open for her, she hastened down the hallway in an attempt to catch up with his long strides. There had been an immediate change in his disposition. It was almost as if he were… excited? No, that wasn’t the right word—relieved maybe? She couldn’t quite place it, but he had definitely regained traces of his previous smug countenance that had been absent only moments before. 

Halting before a grand, split staircase, Malfoy spared a quick glance over his shoulder to check that she was still following. Content that she wasn’t too far behind, he resumed his determined pace once more. 

Hermione sighed irritably as she watched him make his way down the left stairwell—which, from this direction, she could only presume led to the main wing of the manor.

 _How much further was he taking her?_ As Malfoy had predicted, she was battling to keep up while he navigated them through the seemingly endless maze of darkened hallways. 

_What a morning_ , she thought grouchily, wondering if she could bribe that house-elf for at least a new cup of tea—she really needed it right now. All this walking, and she hadn’t even had breakfast. The surreal events of the morning were also starting to catch up on her. It was almost official; she would be soul-bonding with Draco Malfoy. 

Barely repressing a shudder at the prospect, Hermione looked up to where he was silently walking ahead of her, though, she could only stare in awe at the vision presented before her in that moment.

Brilliant rays of sunlight streamed in through the impressive, wall-length windows lining the expanse of the hallway. But it was Draco’s white-blonde hair and pale complexion, reflecting the gentle light as he passed by each window, which made him appear almost otherworldly. Dressed in tailored black robes that flared around his tall frame, he transitioned between the broken shadows and golden inlets of light with his every step. 

Watching him like this, she could easily forget the curse afflicting him.

She had to admit that Malfoy had grown to be a rather attractive wizard—in a completely aesthetic way, of course. Even with the noticeable effects of the curse, one could appreciate that he was far from terrible to look at... once you got past the obvious character flaws and his inability to smile sincerely.

Drawing her attention back to her surroundings, Hermione realised that they were headed in the direction of the blue parlour: the room where she had previously met with Lady Malfoy. Recognising many of the portraits adorning the walls, she assuredly concluded that this was the same hallway Narcissa had led her through on their way to Malfoy’s rooms, though, in the opposite direction. 

_The same hallway,_ she groaned inwardly. Oh _bother..._

Bracing herself for the onslaught of insults, Hermione visibly flinched as the nearest portrait of a rather pointy faced witch, suddenly caught sight of her. However, unlike Narcissa, who had politely ignored the various profanities and name-calling, Draco sported an amused smirk as all the portraits awoke with the same vigour as before. 

_Had he led them in this direction on purpose?_ _Surely, in a manor this large, there would be various other routes to take in order to reach one’s destination?_ Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously at Malfoy’s obvious bemusement. _If he was going to enjoy this, then she was going to have her fun too._

Forcing a cheerful disposition, she proclaimed loudly. “I wouldn’t be so amused Malfoy, you’re the one binding yourself to a muggleborn witch.” 

Draco came to an automatic stop as the hallway became abruptly silent. Then, to her delight, the portraits, having processed her words, immediately began hurling insults towards him instead. 

_‘Disgrace to your house’_

_‘Desecrate the bloodlines.’_

_‘Better off dead.’_

Hermione’s smile only grew wider as she beheld the portrait of a particularly plump, old wizard who was slowly turning a fascinating shade of purple in his rage. _She could listen to this all day,_ she mused, finally appreciating the novelty of the Malfoy family portraits. 

Draco shot an exasperated look over his shoulder. “Best not antagonise the portraits, Granger.” He stated flatly, already making his way down the hallway once more. “You’re going to be living here, might as well get used to them.” 

_She was going to be living here?_ She balked _. Why in Merlin’s beard would he presume that she would do that?_

Hermione stared gobsmacked at his retreating form. With one last glance towards the vexed portraits, she hurried down the hallway in an attempt to catch up with the particularly insufferable wizard who didn’t even have the decency to slow down for her, even in his weakened state. 

_It could have been much worse,_ she reasoned, tailing closely behind him once more. _Just imagine, Draco Malfoy might have insisted on holding her hand…_

* * *

  
She had been right in her assumption that Draco had been leading them towards the same parlour where she had previously visited with Lady Malfoy. Once again, Narcissa sat demurely upon one of the sofas, seemingly lost in her thoughts. 

Noticing Draco’s change in expression as he regarded his mother, Hermione remained hidden in the doorway, quietly observing as he made his way across the room and knelt down on one knee before the saddened witch. 

Narcissa’s expression brightened slightly at Draco’s appearance. Bringing up her hand, she delicately rested her palm against his cheek in a comforting manner. To Hermione, it almost appeared as if Draco were apologising during this silent, yet profound exchange between mother and son. 

However, the moment Hermione stepped further into the room, Narcissa’s saddened eyes snapped upwards before her expression morphed dramatically with recognition.

Hesitantly, Narcissa glanced down at her son, staring at him questioningly with her hand still resting on his cheek. With little wonder as to what Narcissa was thinking, Hermione watched Draco nod subtly in reply to his mother’s silent question. 

At his response, Lady Malfoy rose to her feet with a startled gasp. With her hand now raised over her mouth, she staggered towards Hermione. However, before Hermione could react, Narcissa’s movements suddenly ceased and her expression hardened with indifference once more. Dropping her hand slowly to her side, she inclined her head in a gesture of acknowledgement. 

“I cannot thank you enough, Miss Granger.” 

Hermione nodded stiffly in reply, not knowing what to say to Narcissa in that moment. Unfortunately, a sarcastic _‘It would be my pleasure to help your ungrateful son,’_ didn’t seem appropriate.

Draco, who had risen to his feet again, pointedly cleared his throat. “Granger and I have come to an agreement, mother.”

“Indeed.” Narcissa’s tone remained solemn, still appraising Hermione. “May I assume that you have come to discuss the terms of the proposal?” 

“There’s no need, mother. Granger has set her terms, and I have no wish to change mine.” 

Hermione blinked at his statement before a sudden flare of anger flashed through her. “I haven’t set _all_ my terms yet, Malfoy.” She voiced sharply. “You seem to be under the impression that I will do everything you say.” 

“What? That’s not—”   
  
“Now, now, Draco dearest.” Narcissa attempted in a reprimanding tone. “Miss Granger has a right to discuss the terms of the marriage proposal contract.”

His eyes expression with annoyance as he begrudgingly took a seat upon one of the antique sofas. “Very well, Granger… enlighten us.” He sneered, gesturing mockingly for her to take a seat as Narcissa moved across the room to join him. “I’m sure mother will be _delighted_ to hear what you have to say.” 

Hermione sat down hesitantly upon the edge of the nearest sofa. Looking up, she met the expectant gazes of the two seemingly impatient Malfoys across from her. 

“Malfoy mentioned that I have to... that we will have to, um… produce an _heir_.” She blushed profusely as she noticed both Draco and Narcissa stiffen perceptively at her choice of an opening statement. “I want to pursue my career within the Ministry first, at least for a few years.” 

“Done.” Draco snapped in an immediate reply, glaring sideways at his mother who looked like she wanted to protest. 

Hermione nodded whilst letting out a relieved sigh. _At least that had been easy to agree upon,_ she thought with relief. 

“Anything else, Miss Granger?” Narcissa asked in a clipped voice.

“I don’t want to live in Malfoy Manor.” 

Draco scoffed at Hermione’s declaration. “ _That,_ is not negotiable.”

“We are discussing terms, are we not?” 

“As much as it pains me to admit, you _will_ be a Malfoy... and Malfoy’s reside within this Manor; something that has been done for hundreds of years. You may not enjoy it, but you will adhere to the customs of this family. It’s a tradition I will not relent to the likes of your demands. Besides, you will be protected within these walls, and do I need to remind you why your safety will be my concern, Granger?” 

Hermione’s thoughts fumed at his explanation. _How dare he speak to her that way? Wasn’t she the one saving his life?_

Noting her perplexed expression, Draco let out an annoyed sigh. “Look, Granger, I get it... I do. However, this Manor was here long before Voldemort existed, and it will be here long after the both of us are gone. It would be an insult to the magical history of my family if a Malfoy’s wife were to refuse to live within this estate. I can guarantee that the news—the gossip—of your refusal to live here, would travel across the entire magical community... _That_ is not something I can afford to let happen.” 

“I care nothing for your family’s reputation, Malfoy.” Hermione replied flatly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Draco placed a hand on his mother’s arm reassuringly before fixing his cold gaze firmly upon Hermione. “You forget that it will be _your_ family soon. The family of the child which you have agreed to bare, and the family under which you will be represented within the Ministry...” 

Hermione grimaced at Draco’s words. She knew that she couldn’t argue against what he had implied. She needed the Malfoy name to be respected in order to invite change.

“Fine.” She sighed defeatedly, refusing to meet his smug look. “Although, I demand separate chambers from you.”

“As if I would share a room with you.” Draco leant forward in a show of frustration. “This is ridiculous! Look, Granger, you cannot defy the marriage proposal contract! You want to postpone having a kid, fine; nothing would please me more than being spared that horror for a few years, however, everything else is set in stone. The contract hasn’t been changed in hundreds of years, nor will it change now.” At length, he added, the warning in his voice clear. “I have taken great lengths to ensure that my _predicament_ has remained out of the public’s knowledge. Thus, it is imperative that this _arrangement_ between us, is to appear as _normal_ a union as possible.”

Hermione snorted. “There’s nothing _normal_ about any of this.” 

“It matters little. Many pureblood marriages have been built upon far less than the courtesies which you are being shown. You will have everything you need at your disposal in terms of your career. You have stipulated your terms regarding the Ministry, and I have agreed to them. You have already made your decision Granger and we are both perfectly aware what type of _arrangement_ this truly is. In fact, you’re wasting my time with this pointless discussion! You have no family to back your demands, and any further proposals you make, I will not entertain.”

“Very well.” Hermione gritted between her teeth; she was beyond insulted by Malfoy’s demeaning attitude. “As long as we are agreed that you will uphold your end of the deal, I will accept your terms.”

 _She was doing this for the greater good_ , she reminded herself soothingly.

Draco nodded blankly at the unexpectedly acquiescing change in her approach. “We are agreed.” 

“Excellent.” Narcissa chimed as she rose gracefully to her feet. “If I may, Miss Granger?”   
  
Hermione held her breath as Lady Malfoy raised her wand out before her, deftly conjuring the familiar stack of crisp, white parchment, out of thin air once again.

Crossing the short distance on shaky legs, she mindlessly reached for the quill which Lady Malfoy held proffered within her hand, her attention fixed solely upon the contract now being levitated before her. 

Pursing her lips, Narcissa flicked her wand sharply at the contract, forcing the parchment to frantically flip open until it settled on the last page, conveniently presenting the line upon which Hermione was to sign her name.

As her eyes flickered momentarily towards Malfoy, Hermione acknowledged that he looked even less enthusiastic than she felt. _Not that she was surprised, this wasn’t something either of them had ever wanted._

Inhaling deeply, her grip on the quill tightened as she held it over the parchment with an unsteady hand. She could feel her heart stutter hopelessly with nerves as her mind reeled at what she was about to do. There was a distinct part of herself that was determined and yet, still terrified. Once she signed her name, there would be no going back… 

_This was what she wanted to do._

_This was what she needed to do._

The quill touched down along the line and Hermione watched mesmerised as her hand appeared to form her signature on its own accord—her fingers following the intrinsic motions as she remained numb to the surrounding world. Upon lifting the quill from the parchment, the fresh ink seemed to glisten faintly as the binding magic of the contract recognised her own magical imprint.

Staring at the fading glow of the ink, she couldn’t help but fall victim to the sinking feeling that she had just willingly signed her life away. Breathing deeply in an effort to steel her fear, Hermione looked up from the contract with a nervous smile—a smile which melted away as she met the cold expressions of Draco and Lady Malfoy staring blankly back at her.

They didn’t need to say anything. 

It was done. 

Hermione Granger belonged to the Malfoys now. 

* * *

  
Stepping out from the green flames and moving away from her fireplace, Hermione released a heavy sigh whilst her eyes roamed over the comforting scene of her cosy flat.   
  
She was home.

Thinking back to the awkward moment she had requested to be shown to the Malfoy’s Floo connection right after signing the contract, she longed to curl up with a book and let her mind escape all that had happened that morning. 

As Hermione reached up to brush some stray soot from her shoulder, she flinched instinctively as the sound of hurried footsteps bounding down the passageway immediately withdrew her from her lamenting thoughts. With wand now at the ready, the world seemed to pause as she took in the sight of her two best friends rounding the corner before coming to a halt just a few feet away from her, choosing to remain under the small archway leading into the living room. 

Harry and Ron, both dressed in their Auror robes, were currently staring at Hermione as if she had just been caught trying to sneak back into the Gryffindor common room long past curfew.

“You weren’t at work today.” Harry voiced loudly, his brow raised questioningly.

“You have some explaining to do.” Ron added, shaking his finger at her pointedly.

”I had something more important to attend to.”

She had no idea why they would be _this_ worked up over the simple fact that she hadn’t been at work today. Everyone knew that she would never miss work unless it was absolutely necessary...

“Hermione Granger.” Harry held up a copy of the Daily Prophet in his hand. “What is the meaning of this?” 

Right there, on the second page of the Daily Prophet, was a picture of Hermione addressing Sebastian Nott during the conference. A picture, which all too clearly portrayed a smirking Draco Malfoy sitting in the seat right next to her.

 _This could not be happening._

Why had she left to confront Malfoy before finishing the article? It was so unlike her. If only she had turned the page…

”I had a successful day at the Ministry conference yesterday.” She supplied, weakly attempting to sidestep Harry’s obvious question.

“You were sitting next to... to _Malfoy_.” Ron waved his hand back and forth between both herself and the picture displayed on the newspaper in Harry’s hand. “ _Malfoy_!” He squeaked. 

Evidently, the two wizards were not going to let her avoid their questions regarding Draco again.

“I - I can explain.” She met their concerned gazes as she stuttered over her words nervously. _Great,_ she realised, noting their expressions _. Now they probably think that Malfoy threatened her into helping him—or something equally terrible._ “Though, you—you may want to sit down.” She added before they could say anything further. “It’s... _complicated_.”

Hermione disappeared into the kitchen and began to fix the three of them a hearty afternoon tea whilst the two wizards reluctantly made themselves at home in her living room.

 _This conversation was going to take a while,_ she thought with a frown, flicking her wand at a teapot that immediately started steaming. _A long while..._  


* * *

  
“She’s gone barmy, Harry.” Ron declared loudly, grabbing a handful of biscuits from the plate on the coffee table as he proceeded to stuff them into his mouth in between sentences. “I told you. She’s completely lost it.” 

“Hermione, I—” Harry attempted, only to be interrupted by Ron.

“It’s like fifth year all over again, but, instead of O.W. L’s, she’s so deep in Ministry paperwork, trying to curve those outdated laws, that she’s finally gone mental! Was only a matter of time if we’re being honest here...” 

“I am not _barmy_.” Hermione bristled, glaring at Ron as he reached for another handful of biscuits. 

“ _Malfoy_ , Hermione.” Harry exhaled slowly. “You’re really _marrying_ Malfoy?” 

“Well, I’m not marrying him... not like what you’re thinking... we’re just doing the binding ritual. Though, soul-tethering _is_ registered as an official marriage according to Ministry procedures. In fact, the same ritual was commonly used within most pureblood marriage ceremonies, long ago.” 

Ron dropped his next handful of biscuits back onto the plate with a loud clatter. 

_“Soul-tethering_!” He spluttered. “ _Soul-tethering!_ Mione, No!” 

“What’s soul-tethering?” Harry cut in, furrowing his brow in confusion at Ron’s reaction. 

“It’s a soul-binding ritual.” Hermione began to explain, fidgeting restlessly in her seat as Harry stared at her expectantly. “It’s—it’s a ritual that ties the soul of one to person to another, sort of like a magical anchor.” 

Ron huffed loudly. “Yeah right! She’s not even telling you the _half_ of it, Harry... Malfoy’s going to have—”

“Malfoy, will be tethering his soul to _me_ , Ronald.” 

“He’s… Malfoy is … What?” Ron’s bright red face paled immediately. Looking at her tense expression, and much to Hermione’s aggravation, he burst out laughing. 

“Hermione.” Harry continued, glancing suspiciously between the very anxious looking witch and the boisterously laughing wizard next to him. “What’s so significant about soul-tethering?”

Hermione groaned resignedly as she covered her forehead with the palm of her hand. “It means that Malfoy’s soul… well, his soul will forever be bound to my own.” She added in a whisper. “Even after death.” 

Harry blinked, stunned. “So, if you were to die… Malfoy, he will…?” 

Reluctantly, she nodded in affirmation.

Ron reached for another handful of biscuits with a broad smile stretching across his face. “Just wait Harry. Tell him Mione—tell him the _good_ stuff.” 

“Seriously, Ronald?” She breathed, appraising him with clear annoyance.

“Blimey, Mione! give a bloke a break... News like this doesn’t come every day.” He shrugged. “Listen, Harry... Hermione is about to make Malfoy her _little bitch_.” 

“I am not!” 

Ron ignored Hermione as she flustered in objection to his words. “Malfoy must be the first pureblood wizard in over a thousand years, who is tethering himself to a witch—usually it’s the other way around, you know?” 

Harry's eyes widened at Hermione’s flushed expression, but she was no longer denying what Ron was saying. 

“He won’t be able to even _look_ at another witch once he’s tethered himself to her, but _she_ will be completely free to do as she pleases...” Ron chuckled heartily as he stuffed another biscuit into his mouth. “His life, is quite literally in her hands. It’s one of the strongest soul-binding rituals witches and wizards can use for a marriage... It serves as a ceremony and everything... Though, the practice of using them went out of fashion years ago. Mum always said that she never needed to be soul-bonded because both her heart and soul already belonged to dad fully.” Ron’s cheeks tinged a slight shade of pink as he finished his last sentence. 

“I would never presume to—Ronald Weasley, stop eating all of the biscuits!” Hermione admonished as Ron reached his hand out towards the plate once again.

“I’m stressed, Mione!” He grumbled, slumping back against the sofa miserably.

“It doesn’t work like that, Harry.” Hermione smiled sadly, noticing his worried expression. “Yes, Malfoy’s life will be tied to my own, however, I don’t have any control over his actions or choices. Soul-tethering, it doesn’t influence your feelings or emotions—supposedly, it can heighten intimacy, but it definitely won’t make Malfoy my ‘ _little bitch_ ’.” 

Harry nodded robotically at Hermione’s explanation. “Im confused. Why would Malfoy care so much about preserving his family name, if it’s just going to die out with him anyway? It’s not like you two even like each other... and he can’t look elsewhere—Not that he deserves to die or anything!” Harry added hastily, realising the way his question was coming across. “But, what’s the point of going through all this trouble when it’s not going to make _that_ much of a difference anyway?” 

“Right.” Hermione stiffened immediately. “Um… there’s... that’s the thing... Malfoy-and-me-are-going-to-have-to-have-a-baby.” She mumbled, her words jumbling together incoherently in her nervous state. 

“Could you repeat that?” Harry asked, his voice catching in his throat as he stared wide eyed at her. “For a moment there, I thought you said that you would be having a baby with Malfoy...”

“I... I will.”

“You’re going to _spawn_ with Malfoy!” Ron yelled, jumping to his feet. “You and Malfoy... _together like that..._ oh, Merlin! You’re going to... No, Hermione... tell me you’re joking.” 

She shook her head dejectedly. 

“I thought you said that it was merely a formal contract—a deal, between the two of you.” Harry murmured, his voice still distant. 

“It was part of the contract.” 

“I think I’m going to be sick.” Ron rambled, pacing frantically around the room. “I thought this was funny, but just think... _Our_ Hermione… being… being knocked up, by _Malfoy_!” 

“It was only agreed upon under the condition that I would have time to pursue my goals within the Ministry first.” Hermione explained defensively. “We don’t have to worry about that for at least a few years.” 

Ron flopped onto the sofa next to Harry again, leaning forward, he placed his head in his hands as he grumbled loudly. 

Harry, still shocked at the revelation, absently lifted his arm to pat Ron’s back in a consoling manner. “When are you going to do the soul-tethering ritual?” He asked, glancing sideways at Ron who continued to groan audibly next to him. 

“On the night of the next new-moon. The combined ritual that I told you about, it’s rather complex. It requires the magical energy of the darkest night: when the moon’s orbit passes the ecliptic node between the sun and the earth.” She waved her hand dismissively as she continued, knowing Harry wouldn’t want the full explanation. “Apparently, the strength of the blood-magic ritual is influenced by the lunar cycle.”

Harry’s eyes flashed with recognition at her words. “Ginny said something about the new-moon; that it only happens a few times a year. I remember her saying something about wanting to cut her hair... But, Hermione, that’s in—”

“Twelve days.” She confirmed, leaning back in her chair. “I have twelve days until Malfoy is tied to me forever.” 


	9. When the clock strikes twelve

"I still don’t see the necessity for all of this, Lady Malfoy.” Hermione squeaked as the evidently half-blind seamstress poked her sharply in the leg with a pin, yet again. “My robes were perfectly acceptable. When you requested that I accompany you to Diagon Alley today, I was not given the impression that you were planning to replace the _entirety_ of my wardrobe.” 

Being the weekend, Diagon Alley was teeming with witches, wizards and even small children who were not yet old enough to attend Hogwarts. Walking down the cobblestone paving, escorted by none other than Lady Malfoy herself, Hermione had been instantly aware of the many shocked and disapproving looks they received on their way. 

Whether the crowds had disapproved of Lady Malfoy being seen with a muggleborn witch, or whether they had disapproved of Hermione being seen with a previous supporter of Voldemort, she would never know; every frown and stare they received, matched equally in disdain, no matter the reason.

Whilst Hermione had tried to keep her head down to avoid any possible interactions, Lady Malfoy simply didn’t care. She acted as if the whole world were beneath her, and Hermione was starting to think that Narcissa truly believed it to be thus. Nevertheless, the unlikely pair of witches had made their way diligently through the crowds in the south side of Diagon Alley, making their way directly towards _Twilfitt and Tatting’s_.

 _Twilfitt and Tatting’s_ was one of those shops Hermione had neither felt the need to visit nor had been able to afford before. Their designs, though well received by the public, notoriously accommodated to the pureblood society fashion trends. The shop rarely provided anything that looked as if it belonged in the twenty-first century... even for wizarding standards.

Upon entering the small shop, Lady Malfoy had been greeted with a respectful smile by Mrs Tatting: a frail old witch who seemed to constantly dictate a band of equally old seamstresses around the small dress-shop. Hermione, however, had been greeted with a collective gasp and the horrified expressions of the seamstresses as they one-by-one caught sight of her unkept hair and ‘ _unfashionable_ ’ robes.

Within minutes, she had been jostled over to the corner of the shop and made to stand atop a plump, little podium set out before a large mirror. Mrs.Tatting had clicked her tongue disapprovingly before rolling out a magical measuring tape that flitted annoying around Hermione without pause—repetitively winding itself ‘round and ‘round her every limb. 

And there Hermione still stood, bemoaning to Lady Malfoy once again. 

“Miss Granger.” Narcissa sighed, turning her attention away from Mrs. Tatting; the two witches had been discussing the latest trend of feathered hats with great interest before Hermione had interrupted them. “As I previously informed you, you are associated with the Malfoy family now. Therefore, the way in which you dress and act, is a personal reflection of our house.” 

Lady Malfoy resumed her conversation with Mrs.Tatting, not bothering to wait for Hermione’s reply. Narcissa had been treating Hermione like a small child all morning, constantly chastising her and talking down to her as if she were unable to comprehend even the basics of high-society.

Glowering down at the witch sticking her with pins—an occurrence which she had now concluded was intentional—Hermione attempted to refocus her gaze upon the large mirror once more, staring at the reflection presented before her.

The elegant robe designs and sophisticated, jewel-toned fabrics Narcissa had personally picked out for her, were being fitted and styled to match her figure. In fact, she looked almost unrecognisable garbed in the elegant witches’ robes. 

_This was not who she was,_ she thought _, but maybe, it was who she needed to be._

Having spent the better part of the week avoiding the incessant questioning from Harry, Ron and even Ginny—who had shown up holding a baked casserole _‘with condolences for the unfortunate loss of Hermione's mind’—_ she was at her wits’ end.

Thus, when a sharp knock had sounded upon her front door that morning, she had thrown open the offensive plank of wood with an irritated bark of _‘WHAT?’,_ ready to hex whichever one of her friends had deemed it wise to pester her on a Sunday morning, only to be met with the scandalised expression of Lady Malfoy standing before her. 

Though, Narcissa’s affronted reaction was equal part due to the sight of Hermione still in her pyjamas, as well as the prospect of someone actually having to live in such a small flat. How Narcissa Malfoy had even known where to find Hermione’s flat, had been a marvel in itself… 

Apparently, The Malfoy’s couldn’t allow her to parade around the Ministry and wizarding Britain whilst dressed in what Narcissa had described as ‘ _common robes.’_ In other words, how dare Hermione walk around looking poor? People would undoubtedly presume that the Malfoy’s had neither the means nor sense to provide properly for her.

 _What a prospect indeed,_ Hermione thought bitterly. _Obviously, being aligned with a dark wizard was deemed acceptable, but Salazar forbid a Malfoy ever give off the appearance of being poor…_

After a few hours of being poked and prodded, measured and scrutinised for _‘Tatting’s Finest Autumn Collection,’_ Narcissa had all too quickly said farewell after the purchases had been placed on the Malfoy family account. Unsurprisingly, Hermione had also been more than relieved at the conclusion of their impromptu dress-robe shopping trip.

Making her way down Diagon Alley after having visited the relatively new, historical bookstore: _‘_ Scrolls and Scribes, _'—_ which had opened up in one of the many shops left vacant after the war— Hermione was anxious to take her mind off of the Malfoy’s, especially the curse.

Luckily, the colourful and resplendent displays lined the windows of every magical shop once more. The bubbling sounds of cauldrons brewing, and the distinct screeches of owls intermingled with the boisterous chattering of the lively crowds. Gleaming with the dazzling magic and intrigue that had been absent during the war, Diagon Alley had long since returned to its former glory.

Carefully sidestepping a wizard pushing a rickety cart overflowing with jars of eel-eyes, frog eggs and what looked suspiciously like bee stings, Hermione made her way past Carkitt Market. Even shirking _Florean Fortescue’s ice-cream parlour_ in her determination,she continued towards the now observable entrance to _Weasleys’ Wizards Wheezes._

If browsing old books hadn’t been able to make her smile, then this was her last hope for an enjoyable day...

* * *

  
“Well, well, well.” Hermione stilled at the sound of the lively voice behind her. “If it isn’t the latest talk of the town—visiting _my_ shop.” 

Turning around, she was met with the striking appearance of George Weasley: beaming down at her with a wide smile, he stood dressed in bright cerulean robes lined with purple trimming. The remaining half of the Weasley duo was evidently striving to make double the impression.

“George.” She greeted, rolling her eyes as he swept into a mocking bow.

“The one and only, at your service… _My lady_.” 

“Oh, please don’t call me that.” She cringed. “You know that’s never going to be _me_.”

“I don’t know if I do know that. I hear you’re keeping quite the _interesting_ company these days.” He waggled his eyebrows at her knowingly. “What _you_ don’t know, is what Ginny told me mum’s reaction was when _she_ found out.” 

Hermione fidgeted nervously at George’s revelation. Almost the entire wizarding population already knew that she would soon be ‘ _marrying’_ Malfoy, however, only a select few were privy to the real truth, and at least the Weasleys were some of them. 

“It’s been a strange week.” She admitted softly, biting her lip as she looked around the crowded shop.

George let out a booming laugh in reply, his expression brightening even further with excitement as he looped his arm through her own and proceeded to lead her towards the back of the shop. “I know just what to show you! Been working on a few new products for the holiday season. Maybe, I can convince you to slip something into Malfoy’s expensive stash of firewhiskey, yeah?”

Hermione all too happily complied, grateful for the chance to be enthralled by the joys of magic before the stresses of dark curses and binding rituals ensnared her every thought once again. 

Leading her past the sales counter, through the small doorway and into the private back room, George brought them to a halt in front of one of the well-stocked storage shelves. “Ahah!” He exclaimed, picking up one of the brightly coloured boxes before holding it out for her to get a closer look. “These will all be out for sale next week.” 

_‘Mystifying Mood Changing Hair Lotion: festive results guaranteed!’_

“Does this change your— ” 

“Yup!” George grinned proudly. “Fred and I got the idea when we first met Tonks, you know. It only lasts a couple of minutes, however, the results are surprisingly accurate. There’s even a list of the corresponding colours for each mood—see.” He added, turning the box over to show her. 

“That’s brilliant.” Hermione stated sincerely, noticing the subtle similarities to muggle mood-rings. 

“We expect it's going to be quite popular with the Hogwarts crowd.” He puffed up happily. 

Scanning the shelf, she read a few other labels of products she had never heard of before. 

_‘_ _Invisible Quills.’_

_‘Self-heating Blankets’_

_‘Instant celebration in a box: perfect for any occasion.’_

Picking up one of the boxes furthest to the right, Hermione turned to look at George curiously. 

“Do these actually work?”

“Ah, _Musical Melts._ ” He sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “Not very descriptive, I know... I admit, Fred was the one who usually came up with the names.” The wide grin returning to his face, he added. “They do exactly what it says though. It required quite the tricky little potion to get it right, but I eventually got it.” 

_‘Musical Melts: A variety of flavours and musical genres designed to keep you entertained for hours. This box contains twenty scrumptiously squishy marshmallow pieces, guaranteed to stick to the back of your unsuspecting victim’s mouth, providing them with the spontaneous need to sing for up to thirty seconds.’_

“Wow.” She stared at the unassuming green box in her hand.

“Lee refuses to try them anymore after he got caught with a yodelling one once.” George’s bark of laughter rebounded around them as he took the box from her. “I was rather fond of the opera one myself—definitely more enjoyable than when I tested one that sounded eerily like a Celestina Warbeck rendition.”

Laughing freely, Hermione looked around in appreciation of the joke shop whilst George continued to animatedly tell her about some of his favourite, upcoming Weasley products.

It was sometimes easy to forget, especially of late, the wonderful thing that was magic… 

* * *

  
Hermione sat kneeling in the middle of the ballroom in Malfoy manor, surrounded by various pages of parchment, unravelled scrolls and open books. The runic symbols she had spelled temporarily onto the pristine marble flooring, encircled the organised—though still mildly chaotic—nest of notes and references. 

“You need to practice your transcription of the ‘ _Seal of Protection._ ’ The arch, drawn over this line here— ” Draco stated, leaning down and gesturing to the runic symbol Hermione had just traced with the tip of her wand. “It needs to be more pronounced.” 

She peered at the rune he was currently inspecting. Glancing down to compare it with the notes on the floor before her, Hermione couldn’t help but grimace. He was right; the curve of the arch needed to be rounder. 

Pushing her hair away from her face in frustration, she waved her wand over the symbol, erasing the glowing design before tracing the rune anew. It was the same corrective process she had already perfected hours ago.

Draco straightened once she had completed the symbol properly. Nodding approvingly, he resumed his otherwise silent inspection of her efforts. 

Hermione watched him out of the corner of her eye as he slowly began to encircle her once more, hands behind his back, intently watching her every movement. Prior to this week, she had never seen this side to him before. They had been at this since the early hours of the morning, repetitively and painstakingly going over every detail involved in the combined ritual. 

She had been given just under two weeks—only twelve days, to learn it all. Every runic symbol, wand movement and incantation, she had been tasked to memorise and perfect.

No sooner than the day after she had signed the contract, Malfoy’s owl had delivered the old, magical tome he had already shown her—as well as various other scrolls and books that she would need to study. Attached, was a simple note, merely one line that had been scrawled in his elegant handwriting. 

_‘Don’t fuck it up.’_

Clearly, there was no pressure…

“I need a break.” She huffed, standing up slowly as the blood rushed back to her cramping legs. 

“The new-moon is less than two days away, Granger.” Draco glared at her pointedly. “Your performance is maybe average at best. I thought you said that you’ve been devoting all your spare time towards studying the ritual.” 

“I have been.” She snapped irritably, carefully stepping over the circle of runes. “We’ve been practicing the ritual all day. I can’t concentrate, I’m tired, and hungry.” 

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Fine. One hour!” 

Hermione waved her hand dismissively as she walked away from him.

 _Let Malfoy just try force and her back into that circle before she could get some decent food and adequate rest,_ her nose wrinkled at the idea. Though, who would have thought that _she_ would be the one demanding for a longer study break? 

* * *

  
“I don’t want to think about the ritual right now.” She grumbled, pouring herself another cup of tea.

Draco, who was still meticulously comparing her work to his own notes, had yet to acknowledge her beyond his constant corrections and instructions pertaining to the ritual.

“You should take a break too, you know.” Hermione eyed him shortly before taking a small sip of the comforting tea, which was thankfully also warming her stiff hands. 

He released a short huff of air in response, choosing to ignore her.

“Malfoy.” She tried, hoping to gain his attention this time. “Why does your mother insist on having a congratulatory ball for our… ah, _marriage_? I thought you didn’t care for extravagant displays, considering the circumstances.” 

“I don’t.” He replied in an even tone, still not bothering to look away from his notes.

“A ball. An actual ball—In _this_ ballroom.” She hummed in thought, looking around the expansive room. “I think half of wizarding Britain will be attending.” 

“And?” 

“And, it’s just _odd_. We aren’t... you and I… It’s just, I don’t even have an engagement ring, and you expect everyone to celebrate our union as if it were something _worthy_ of such an occasion.” 

Draco sighed deeply before looking up and meeting her quizzical gaze with an arch of his brow. “An _engagement_ ring, Granger. Really?” 

“You’re the one trying to fabricate the appearance of our totally _normal_ union.” 

“I would be happy to let you wear any of the Malfoy family rings.” He replied, the hints of a smirk evident in his expression. “Though, I’m unfortunately obligated to keep you alive.” 

Hermione growled under her breath at his impudence. How _convenient_ for him that none of the Malfoy family heirlooms could be worn safely by anyone less than a half-blood—not that she would _want_ to wear one anyway! 

“That wasn’t the point I was trying to make.” 

Draco shrugged before he placidly resumed thumbing through his notes once more. 

“Malfoy.”

“Typical.” He sighed again before finally looking up. “My mother never thought that I would get the chance to live a normal life—let alone bind myself to anyone.” He paused for a brief moment. “I won’t deny her the chance to celebrate this farce of a union if it means that she will get to play the role of a _proud_ mother for at least _one_ night.” 

“That’s not my concern.”

Closing the large book he had been scanning through with a dull thud, he added. “You’ll have to learn that this is simply how things are done in formal wizarding society. We’re lucky that the soul-binding ritual acts as a legal marriage binding, otherwise, she would have forced us into a formal wedding ceremony too. And _that_ is not something I would have been able to endure—even for my mother’s sake.” 

“Ever the dutiful son.” Hermione mocked in a dry voice. 

“Are you quite done with your tea, Granger?” He sneered, unimpressed with her tone. “You still have to demonstrate the wand movements for each incantation.” 

“Why do you always have to be so rude? I’m already doing everything I can to help you.” 

“You need to do better!” 

“Well so do you!” She slammed her teacup down onto the tray, stalking forward to snatch the book away from him as he made to open it again. “You have been nothing but arrogant and mean towards me. I have tried to ignore your condescending behaviour, but I am done. You will treat me with respect! Or you can forget that I even agreed to help you.” 

“You signed a contract.” He gritted, narrowing his eyes at the way she held the book precariously close to his head.

“Yes, I did.” She acknowledged with an excessively sweet smile. “I signed a _marriage proposal_ contract. Everything else was merely part of a deal _verbally_ agreed between us.” 

Draco swallowed visibly at her statement. 

“So,” Hermione continued, unperturbed. “You will treat me with respect, or you will have to find yourself another _precious little mudblood_ to help you.” 

Draco stood abruptly at her use of the moniker she had intentionally goaded him with.

“You forget that our deal was two-sided, Granger.” He spat. “You need my help too.” 

Hermione breathed sharply through her nose as she regarded his challenging stance. “All I’m asking, is for you to be civil towards me.” 

“And I have been.” 

“Arrgh!” She threw up her hands in frustration. “We are going to be _soul-tethered;_ bound together for the rest of eternity. You might want to rethink your approach to this whole situation, Malfoy.” 

“What? You expect us to be _friends_?” He laughed coldly, seemingly amused by the notion.

“Would it be so difficult to imagine that I don’t want to spend the rest of my existence bound to someone who hates me?” Hermione’s voice faded as her anger gave way to a deeper emotion. She knew that she was being unnecessarily emotional right now, partly from stress and partly from exhaustion, however, she had spent the majority of the past few days consumed with the prospect of the ritual, and Malfoy’s constant animosity hadn’t helped.

At least the wizard in question, seemed increasingly uncomfortable towards her sudden display of emotion.

“I’m sor—” He stopped mid-sentence, clearing his throat as he looked away. “I understand.” 

“We shall see.” 

He nodded sharply in response before slowly raising his hand out towards her expectantly. 

Shocked by this action, she stared at his outstretched hand. “What—”

“The book.” Draco reiterated, rolling his eyes. 

Trying not to blush with embarrassment at having been caught thinking he wanted to hold her hand, she shoved the book towards him before stomping back to the circle of runes and plopping down within its centre once more.

“This ritual of yours better work, Malfoy.” She grumbled, gripping her wand tightly. “Or I might feel the need to curse you myself for putting me through all of this today.” 

* * *

  
“You’re still pronouncing it wrong.” Draco reprimanded her, pushing up the long sleeves of his shirt as she stood staring down at the circle. “It’s _tenEbris_ , not _tenebrIs_.” 

_Oh, sweet leviOsa,_ she thought, gritting her teeth _. Never mind cursing him, she was going to kill him._

“Start over from the third incantation.” He instructed her before she could respond. “You’ve messed up the whole fourth segment.” As if to prove his point, he held up the scroll with the Latin translations and pronunciation guide. 

Hermione gawked at him incredulously. The sun had already set hours ago, and she could barely think straight anymore, let alone repeatedly—and perfectly—incite incantation after incantation. 

“I’m done for today.” She uttered softly, lowering her wand to her side in defeat. “I can’t feel my arms, my throat is sore, and I have no more energy left in me.” 

Draco clenched his jaw as he regarded her slumped posture.

“I expected more resilience from someone who claims to be a war hero.” 

“Civility, Malfoy… _remember!”_ She snapped. 

Bringing up both of his hands, he gripped the back of his head, glaring at her angrily. “The new-moon is in—’

“Less than two days! Yeah thanks, I had _definitely_ forgotten...” She met his unrelenting glare with a defiant expression of her own. For a few tense minutes, fuelled by anger and pride, neither of them made to move nor attempted to say anything further. 

Hermione was beginning to think that Malfoy had planned for her to practice the ritual until she passed out from exhaustion. Although she had been merely practicing and not actually performing the ritual, the hundreds of runic inscriptions she had drawn, as well as the hundreds of incantations and wand movements that she had performed, had collectively taken the remains of her strength right out of her. 

Magic this complex, was no simple feat for anyone to attempt, let alone perfect. Everything Malfoy had been trying to get her to learn in just over a week, took most wizards and witches years...

“Skabby!” Draco suddenly called out, still holding her gaze as the house-elf appeared with an echoing ‘pop’ behind him. “Fetch us some dinner—and tea, for Miss Granger.” 

Her eyes widened fractionally at his request. 

_‘Miss Granger’..._ _Well, it was a vast improvement from many of the other names he had called her in the past,_ she thought idly.

“Thank you.” She blinked at him, still surprised. 

Draco’s expression remained irritated as he stood solemnly before her, though, she could tell that he was probably just as exhausted and stressed about the ritual as she was—maybe even more so. 

However, no matter how bad the effects of the curse seemed on any given day, Malfoy had never looked so un-put-together than he did tonight. With his rolled up sleeves and dishevelled hair that had been victim to his fingers one too many times, his usual, refined appearance was far from sight.

Upon her arrival, Hermione had been immediately taken aback by his choice of more _casual_ attire. Not used to seeing him dressed in simple cotton pants and a button-down shirt, she should have guessed that today would be unresentfully gruelling.

Noticing the way his shirt sleeves were still pushed back, her eyes flickered downward to the newly visible Dark Mark. Though, before Hermione could voice her thoughts, a loud chime broke the tense silence still hanging between them. Draco’s frustrated stance slipped away as the ominous chiming of what sounded like a very old clock, continued to ring out from somewhere deep within the Manor. 

Still standing before him, she held her breath as Draco flinched perceptively with every chime. The glaring sounds echoed down the darkened hallways, amplifying within the ballroom’s reverberating design, each chime served as a stark reminder that they were running out of time. 

It was midnight. 

Draco’s hands were now visibly shaking at his sides, whether from fear or from the effects of the curse, she couldn’t tell.

Closing her eyes in trepidation, Hermione knew that at this time tomorrow night, they would be leaving for the Department of Mysteries. The twelve days had ticked away like the chiming of the clock, each second bringing them closer to the darkest, final hour. 

She could only hope that all their practicing and revising had been enough. 

They had one day left now.  
  
One day. 


	10. The challengers of death

The new-moon reigned in the sky like a dark orb, casting deep shadows across the night: shadows which danced and flickered occasionally under the reprieving starlight. Though darkness reigned, the chill of the night ruled greater. Hermione could feel the unsettling aura of the lunar eclipse within her very being. The eerie sounds of trees bowing in the wind and the ever more disturbing notion of complete silence, fuelled the unsteady beating of her heart. 

It is widely known that the gravitational forces of nature are increased during a new-moon. The moon and sun work in tandem, strengthening the pull of magic through the combination of these two celestial forces. Much like the effects of a full-moon, the new-moon gives potency to the more primal forces of magic: blood-magic. Like the tides of the ocean, blood magic is equally influenced by the different lunar phases. New-moons or Full-moons, one merely needed to observe the transformations of werewolves to appreciate this magical, lunar phenomenon.

Although the combined blood-magic and soul-binding ritual would essentially be amplified, it also meant that the curse imbued within the Dark Mark would fight harder. 

There were no guarantees that the ritual would succeed, that it would be able to overthrow the curse. Draco had spent years consulting with various experts to formulate the combined ritual, painstakingly referencing hundreds of arithmancy calculations to determine the likelihood of success. Through this research, each movement, each precisely timed enchantment and even the spacing between each symbol, had all been equated for. 

Despite this meticulous planning, there was still a chance that the ritual wouldn’t work. 

Magic is fluid, perceptible to a multitude of external and internal factors: emotions, thoughts, intent, strength and even all that which the magical world simply didn’t understand yet...

Hermione could tell that Draco was transfixed in his thoughts as he sat staring blankly at his notes, placidly turning the pages without reading the words. However, she couldn’t blame him for his anxious disposition.

It was easy to sympathise with Draco when one considered the amount of effort he had put into the ritual. From Voldemort’s suicidal task in their sixth year, to the threat of the curse, Malfoy seemed to have a proclivity for finding himself in situations where death loomed over his every chance of failure. 

_He is resourceful,_ she supposed. Though his achievements were shrouded in dubious intent and cause, one had to admit that Draco’s ability to think past the obvious answer, was impressive. Maybe, the sorting hat _had_ been correct to claim that Slytherins were resourceful. Before now, Hermione had merely assumed that Draco had been sorted into Slytherin almost immediately due to his unpleasant nature alone. 

The vanishing cabinet and the combined ritual were feats of magic and logic that Hermione, admittedly, would never have been able to achieve. She was gifted in magical ability and knowledge—sure, but she had a rather hindering insistence to follow the rules and maintain structure, even when it came to using magic. Hermione knew that she wouldn’t have dared to approach—or imagine—the possibility of combining two rituals to remove the curse. It was simply not done. Though, despite the risks, Malfoy had dared to do it. 

“Granger.” Draco’s emotionless voice broke the heavy silence between them. “If things go wrong tonight…” 

“It won’t.” She insisted, noticing the way he looked away from from her. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Malfoy.” 

It was not the first time he had tried to broach the subject tonight. 

Draco scoffed and fixed his stoic gaze on her once more, the hints of a smirk now tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Am I supposed to feel comforted that my life is being placed in your shoddy wand-work?”   
  
It was a reaction she had come to expect: Malfoy lashing out at her with demeaning remarks whenever he was gripped by fear or frustration. 

“There were no mistakes in the last few practices.” Hermione arched her brow indignantly. “Besides, I think I’ve done well considering the limited time I’ve had to learn it all.” 

“Debatable. Even if you were proficient, we both know that there’s a chance I won’t survive tonight.” 

“I won’t let you die.” She snapped, appalled that he was still suggesting such an outcome. “I expect you to be alive and well enough to fulfil your end of the deal. I would be most upset if I had to go back to filing rejected Wizangamot appeals again.” 

“I guess I should be relieved that you’re doing this for your own reasons.” His smirk widened as he continued. “It would be more concerning if your only motivation was to save me.” 

Hermione gaped at his words. Had Draco just inadvertently agreed with her—acknowledging that he could trust her? She could scarcely believe it. Evidently, all the sleep deprivation and stress over the past two weeks had finally caught up with him. She doubted that he had even slept in two days—he certainly didn’t look it. 

Noticing her surprised reaction, Draco rolled his eyes and turned away from Hermione, walking across the ballroom to where they had taken a short break from their rehearsals earlier that evening. 

“It’s almost midnight.” He called over his shoulder as he made to grab the black cloak neatly draped over the ornate bench against the wall.

“How are we getting to the Ministry?” she asked curiously, wandlessly summoning her own cloak. “You never mentioned it. It’s not as if we can simply walk into the Department of Mysteries and demand entry to the Death Chamber.” 

Draco shrugged his cloak on before addressing her. “The veil of souls is available to all those who wish to soul-bind… But no, you are right. We cannot simply request access to the veil lest wanted every witch and wizard in the world were to find out, and an unspeakable would need to be present to witness the binding.” 

Hermione nodded in agreement. The veil of souls wasn’t necessary for every soul-binding ritual; many wizards and witches chose to forgo the veil as a ritual medium in favour of privacy and discretion. However, the combined soul-binding ritual and blood-magic ritual required every possible magical amplification, including the use of the _Veil of Souls_. They were probably the first couple in over a century attempting a soul-tethering ritual within the Death Chamber.

Information like _that_ would certainly not remain a secret for long... 

“We are apparating directly into the Department of Mysteries.” He informed her, his voice lowering as he continued. “I actually got the idea from when you escaped the Manor during…” 

Hermione stiffened as his voice trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. She knew what he had been trying to admit. Malfoy had witnessed Dobby’s rescue effort during the war. He had seen that house-elves could breach most anti-apparation wards. 

“The house-elf magic can breach Ministry wards too?” 

“It seems even the Ministry never thought to place wards against house-elves.” 

She smiled at the thought of wizarding ignorance. Even Voldemort hadn’t thought to protect the cave where his horcrux had been hidden; Kreature had been able to apparate through those wards too. 

Clasping her cloak just below her neck, she turned on the spot as the first chime of that darn clock rang out into the night once again. There simply _had_ to be a magical enhancement on the blasted thing. Even with the cavernous, empty hallways... no clock could resound _that_ loudly from so far away. 

She would be damned if she didn’t put up a silencing charm around her rooms once she inevitably moved into the manor—which would be tomorrow probably, she realised.

The time before she even knew about Malfoy’s curse seemed like a distant lifetime ago, though barely a few weeks had passed since then. Hopefully, her life would resume some semblance of normalcy once this was all over.

 _It was fitting, in an ironic sort of way,_ Hermione mused. Midnight had broken the spell of her once possible future; If they made it through this night, she would be returning a Malfoy. Although she was content with her decision, there was still so much that she was giving up. Hermione had made a deal with the not so charming _prince_ of the magical community, and now they were in this together.

If only breaking the curse were as easy as finding a magical glass slipper... Even Hermione knew that a simple charm to repel all but the wearer would be needed for the creation of such a shoe.

Sure enough, the small house-elf appeared at the last stroke of midnight, distracting her from her woeful musings as Draco strode over. He didn’t even blink as the house-elf placed its knobbly hand over his own.

It was time.

Reaching forward to grasp the house-elf’s other small hand, Hermione felt the familiar tug in her navel before the world fell away around her. 

* * *

  
They landed in the Death Chamber with a reverberating ‘pop.’ They were deep beneath the Ministry of Magic, somewhere within the Department of Mysteries. The hard, stone floor had offered little comfort to their sudden landing; the resulting dull ache lingering through her calves as the fading sound of their arrival echoed throughout the dark and desolate chamber. 

With a subtle nod from Draco, Hermione watched the house-elf bow low before disappearing once again. 

They were all alone down here now.

She never had the opportunity to truly analyse the contents of the Death Chamber all those years before. 

The chamber was exactly as she remembered it. The large, rectangular room remained dark and ominous to the eye. Scanning the room, her whole body quivered with the same sense of foreboding as the settling chill consumed her once more. Though, the chill came from neither the darkness nor the cold, but from a feeling she couldn’t quite explain…

Large, stone steps lined the walls, steeply descending towards the sunken pit in the centre of the chamber. Within the pit, lay a raised platform; right in the centre of the chamber—atop the raised platform, the dais—stood the Veil of Souls. This enigmatic structure, this manifestation of a physical barrier between the two worlds of both the living and the dead, was what they had come for. 

Hermione had been afraid of the veil before, and she was no less afraid now.

The pointed, stone archway stood tall and foreboding and yet, it would appear almost inconsequential to the unknowing eye. Between the crumbling stones and faded markings etched onto its frame, the veil looked positively ancient. If it weren’t such a prominent magical artefact, one would wonder as to how it remained standing at all. 

The flowing curtain suspended within the arched design, seemed to ripple and sway—despite the lack of a breeze within the chamber. The gentle fluttering of the veil appeared as if someone were running their fingers through the worn fabric, creating distinct ripples which only physical disturbance could achieve. Swallowing nervously, Hermione acknowledged that it was probably the movement of souls passing through the veil, from this world to the next. 

Before she could ponder the possibility, the eerie quiet of the chamber began to shift as a spectral murmur of voices called out from beyond the veil. The whispered murmurings grew louder as the ripples swirled more frantically; the souls on the other side had noticed their presence.

Hermione glanced nervously towards where Draco stood. He remained fixed to the spot as he stared with trans-like awe towards the veil. Unlike her, he had never seen the veil before. Her eyes widened fractionally as she remembered her own friends’ wonder all those years ago… Surely, Draco could hear the voices beyond the veil too? 

She had long since learnt that it was the souls of distant relatives and loved ones, which called out from the other side. Though they could not discern the voices, the inherent longing to join them rang clear throughout the chamber. If you weren’t careful, you would find yourself mindlessly walking towards the veil with the hope of passing through it. 

The hour was already waning, and Draco still hadn’t moved. His eyes had remained transfixed upon the swirling patterns and voices of the veil.

Knowing that they were running out of time, Hermione reached out with a hand towards Malfoy, intent on drawing his attention away from the veil. Hesitantly, she tapped his shoulder and whispered his name. 

Draco flinched, snapping out of his trance before levelling her with an irritated look. 

“We cannot wait.” He gritted, gesturing to the dais with a sharp turn of his head. 

Exhaling slowly, she observed him silently as he made his way calmly towards the veil, climbing the few steps near the one side before stopping atop the platform: his back facing the arch as he stared down at her blankly. 

Glancing between Draco and the veil behind him, Hermione gave a small smile in reply to his unspoken instruction before nervously looking away from his watchful eyes. They had practiced this repeatedly, over and over without fail all day… but she was still anxious.

What if the ritual _did_ fail? 

Gripping her wand with shaking fingers, she stepped towards the dais; preparing to cast the circle needed to contain and fuel the ritual: granting increased proficiency and power to each enchantment.

“It will work, Granger.” Draco’s voice broke through her nerves as he looked down at her expectantly. “It’s just as you practiced.” 

Hermione nodded whilst trying to stifle her fears. _It was just as they had practiced_ , she reminded herself sternly.

Lifting her arm out before her, she touched the tip of her wand to the first stone, slowly tracing the symbol for ‘ _integration_ ’ in the glowing, magical inscription. Lifting her wand, she held her breath in anticipation, waiting to see if the magic would take to the stone.

Both Hermione and Draco startled as the voices beyond the veil suddenly flared loudly, the agitated murmur of souls now echoing around the chamber. Though, apart from the increase in volume, nothing else happened. 

Meeting his own surprised expression, she shrugged her shoulders before moving to transcribe the next rune in the circle. The intricate design that she had previously drawn along the dais, remained fixed onto the stone. 

The magic of the ritual was not being rejected by the chamber.

Her wand moved religiously within her hand, tracing the well-rehearsed runes onto the stones that encircled the platform. 

_Merlin’s seal of Magic_

_The runic symbol for fusion_

_Errol’s emblem of stability_

Rune after rune, Hermione diligently transcribed each glowing symbol. The veil rippling violently with every surge of magic placed within the stones. They had long since ignored the frantic whispering and calling of the souls, focusing instead on her movements as she neared the completion of the runic circle. 

Magic, like everything in the natural world, was magnified in frequency within a circular design. The joining of the end to the beginning, an endless loop of energy and power. This perfect connection, due to the equidistant spacing between each symbol, amplified the magic held within each of the markings with equal prominence. 

Hermione traced the last symbol around the platform, pulling her wand away sharply as the magical inscription glowed brighter than any of the previous transcriptions had before. One by one, each rune brightened significantly as the magic coursed freely within the confines of the newly enclosed ritual circle. 

The chamber began to rumble slightly as the circle she had drawn continued to glow ever brighter.

 _What was happening_? She thought, frowning with worry as her eyes darted over each symbol with trepidation. 

“Granger.” Draco called out from atop the platform. “The magic.. the ritual boundary is settling... there’s no time to get to the stairs—you need to get up here now!”

Looking up with wide eyes, she met the sight of his hand reaching out towards her. Before she could comprehend her reaction, he had grasped her own outstretching hand, hoisting her up onto the dais just as the chamber quietened and the runic symbols faded to an ambient glow once more.

The runic circle had set. The basis of the magical power needed to fuel and confine the ritual was in place. So far, the ritual was working...

Hermione smiled triumphantly at Draco, the triumphant feeling fading as she appraised his reaction. 

“I understand that it’s going to be painful.” She whispered, frowning at his tense expression. 

“I do not care about the pain. Either way, the pain from this curse demands to be felt. Do what you must Granger—and don’t you dare stop! No matter what happens. Finish. The. Ritual.” 

“But what if—”

“Finish the ritual. You know what can happen, if it fails… you need to kill me before the curse can get to you.” 

“What!” 

“Listen to me, Granger!” He snapped, his expression unwavering. “If this doesn’t work, you know there won’t be another opportunity to save me anyway. You cannot falter until either I am dead, or the ritual is complete. Do you understand?” 

“I understand.” She breathed out shakily, her eyes roaming over the glowing designs in silent reaffirmation that this would work. 

The ritual simply _had_ to work. She couldn’t afford to think anything else.

However, the worst was yet to come. 

* * *

  
The Veil of Souls loomed over them as they stood facing one another from either side of the dais, separated by the tall, stone arch. Though, she could barely make out the blurred figure of Draco Malfoy through the swirling curtain between them.

Lifting her wand, Hermione began the first enchantment: twirling the wand in the circular motion needed to call forth the melded energy of the transcriptions. The magic rose and wrapped around them before readily enveloping her, combining with her own magic.

The new strength behind her magic took her by surprise. Stumbling backwards slightly, she gasped at the magnitude of the power now coursing through her body. 

“Relax, Granger.” Draco’s voice sounded from across the platform. “You need to control it—you can do this.” 

_Where was this encouragement all week whilst they had been rehearsing?_ Hermione thought bitterly, narrowing her eyes in contempt. 

Refocusing on the task at hand, Hermione breathed in deeply, straightening her posture as she gripped her wand tightly. With a sharp movement, she brought the wand down in front of her, directing the surge of magic to a pulsing standstill. 

With the wand still held out in one hand before her—controlling the flow of energy from the runes—Hermione began the enchantment needed to call forth the dark curse to the surface. Focusing on the symbol for _‘attraction_ ,’ she lifted the wand in a quick, swishing motion as she brought her other hand up to help steady the direction of the magic. Sensing the appropriate wave of energy, she turned sideways; the wand remained pointed at the circle whilst her outstretched hand directed the flow of magic towards Draco.

Hermione watched him stiffen before the magic connected with his chest, crippling him to his knees as the dark curse was coaxed to the surface; torturing him with unbearable pain once more.

Clenching her outstretched hand into a fist, she enticed the magic to concentrate around the dark curse. She could feel the essence of the curse brushing against her own magic, its very nature making her recoil slightly before pressing harder against its sickening darkness. Hermione had to confine the curse—restrain it in a cocoon of magic, lest it lashed out aggressively at the threat of the ritual. 

Panting slightly, she dropped her hand as she felt the enchantment enclose around the curse, prohibiting it from causing any further damage. Draco breathed heavily as the intense pain subsided. Nevertheless, she could see the way his body continued to shake with tremors even from where she stood.

Unfortunately, the spell would not last long. Like a virus, the curse would soon mutate to _feed_ from the energy surrounding it, becoming too strong to be contained in the same way again. 

“Malfoy.” She called out tentatively, holding her breath as she waited for any confirmation that he was okay. 

“I’m fine. I told you, Granger—do not falter!” 

Exhaling sharply, Hermione faced the veil directly once more. Lifting her wand up to the palm of her hand, she wordlessly cut into the skin with a precise slicing hex. Needing to remain focused, she blinked rapidly against the tears clouding her vision as the cold air of the chamber stung against the fresh wound.

_Why did it always have to be the palm of the hand? All those nerve endings…_

Kneeling down, she placed her bloodied palm against the ancient stones before her. With song-like chanting, she called forth the magic in her blood and watched it trickle away from her. The blood gained momentum as it seeped through the cracks, eagerly flowing in haste towards the veil: spurred by her enchantments and the ritual. 

The first tier of the blood-magic ritual had begun. 

Closing her eyes, she focused on the next enchantment, calling forth the power of the veil to accept her offering of blood—of life, baring her essence for the binding-ritual itself. 

There was a reason witches and wizards didn’t mess with soul-tethering rituals anymore. The magic in itself was questionable, but the ritual used to join the two souls was widely considered to be unnatural or dangerous. The use of the Veil for the soul-tethering largely contributed to this perception. The veil served as a medium to help magnify the call of one soul to another: coaxing forth the mortal bond of the soul within the binding-ritual. 

One wrong move... and the soul could be lost to the veil forever. Instead of binding one’s soul to another, one could mistakenly bind oneself to the realm beyond—tethering the soul through the veil during the ritual. Sadly, one would spend the rest of their life seeking the reunification of their soul through death.

It was one thing to bind your soul to another mortal anchor, but severing the mortal connection entirely—displacing your soul’s connection to this world—was a fate worse than death. It was a dreadful prospect, for one’s soul to be divided across two realms. It was no wonder why Voldemort himself was so disfigured and mentally unstable towards the end. 

Hermione could see Malfoy reaching for the small, silver knife in his pocket as he proceeded to repeat her actions: cutting his palm and placing it upon the dais. Though, he spoke no enchantments as his own magic still lay prisoner to the curse—and they dare not tempt it from its confinement. 

Their blood coursed seamlessly through every crack, the red glistening ominously against the dark and ancient hue of the stones. Watching this progression, she wondered how many wizards and witches had been forced to spill their blood upon this dais before...

The stone platform shuddered as the veil continued to swirl violently. Hermione once again raised her wand out before her; staring through the veil, she met Draco’s equally nervous expression. Gesturing with his hand, he instructed her to continue with the ritual.

He was ready.

Lifting her wand high within the air, she focused on the enchantments for _‘binding’_ and ‘ _severing_.’ Flicking the wand in a sharp, zig-zag motion, she then raised her still bloodied hand—palm open towards Draco, as she called forth his soul whilst simultaneously attacking the embedded roots of the curse with her wand.

The voices beyond the veil grew ever more frenzied as Draco’s screams rebounded within the chamber. Through her magical hold on him, she could feel the curse ripping at him, its own dark magic coursing through his body as it finally broke free of the confinement: recklessly lashing out, desperate in its last attempt to take his life—to solidify its place.

She cried out as it’s dark magic fought against the enchantment, her own magic forcing it back as she curled her fingers and gripped her wand tighter: invoking more power into the ritual from the runic circle around them. 

Hermione continued to weave enchantment after enchantment, spurring the many elements within the ritual to strengthen and hold against the curse’s resistance. The blood on the floor began to glow similarly to that of the runic transcriptions as the power of the combined ritual took hold around them. The combined-ritual embraced her control. Recognising her magical signature in both the runic designs and the fresh blood on the floor, the link had served its purpose.

She could sense Draco’s soul reaching out to her as she called it forward. The connection between them pulsed strongly: the binding-magic intertwining with the blood-magic coursing through the circle as his soul sought anchorage beyond his mortal body

Parrying the onslaught of dark magic from the curse, Hermione gasped as the magical pull from the veil coursed through their connection suddenly. The veil sought to claim the soul which she called forward. 

Whilst still trying to concentrate equally on severing the curse, she fought to regain control over the binding-magic once more. Soul-tethering required immense focus and concentration. To her despair, the combined effort of severing the dark curse was proving an obstacle against the added force of the veil. 

Hermione could feel the pull of the veil and the realm beyond calling forth to Draco’s soul—willing him to walk towards the arch and pass through it. With a strangled cry, she watched him take a step towards the arch. 

The veil was rippling wildly. 

“No!” She screamed out, watching him continue towards the arch.

Though, having noticed his sudden mobility, she quickly realised that if Draco could walk, then the curse’s hold on him must have weakened drastically already. 

With a desperate surge of energy, Hermione called forth the binding-magic with the full force of the runic circle. The magic swarmed around them in powerful waves as she fought to keep her arm steady. Brandishing this increase in power, Hermione pushed against the veil’s probing call, willing the bond to attach to her and renew its original course. 

Clenching her jaw as the curse fought back against the new power, she could feel it reaching down within Draco—it’s vile magic rooting into his very core as it attempted to rip him apart with renewed vigour. Her own magic swirled frantically between them: the ritual painstakingly fighting against the dark energy of the curse. Then, with a shuddering breath, Hermione felt a new spark of life within her…

She could feel the connection to his soul. 

Whilst the soul-bond took hold within her—before she could even sigh with relief—she brought her wand down sharply in a slicing motion, twisting the end as she fought against the curse with everything she had. 

Sensing the new connection between them, the darkness had instantly sought to claw across the bond to get to her instead. They had been trying to avoid this very outcome, but there had been no other choice. She had been forced to complete the soul-binding ritual before the curse could be removed. Hermione could only hope that the curse was already weak enough for her to fight it off completely. 

“K–ki–kill m–me!” Draco cried out brokenly as she felt the darkness begin to detach from him entirely.

The curse clawed dangerously against the connection between her and Draco, its dark magic twisting against their bond as she slashed through the air frantically with her wand: calling out to the ‘ _severing’_ and ‘ _protection_ ’ runes in her last, desperate efforts against its encroaching, poisonous magic. 

Breathing deeply, she swirled her wand before her with one last surge of power, feeling the curse retaliate fully... before it simply wasn’t there anymore.

Like tightly clasped fingers gripping harder before suddenly letting go, the curse had finally relented to the powerful onslaught of the ritual. 

Around them, the runic circle flickered before fading entirely. 

The ritual was complete. 

The curse was gone. 

They were soul-bound, tethered together for all eternity. 

* * *

Blinking rapidly, she could distinctly feel Draco’s weariness through their new bond. Looking up from where the glowing symbols had once encircled them, Hermione watched with wide eyes as Draco held his hand over his chest, his fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt tightly. 

He was clearly distressed, overwhelmed from the sudden absence of the curse.

Hermione crossed the platform with little hesitation and placed her hand over his arm in a comforting gesture. Through this slight touch—her hand resting on his sleeve—she could feel the bond sing out contentedly, recognising the physical proximity between their newly tethered souls. 

It felt odd, this strange new connection between them. It felt almost as if the binding magic lay in wait for something to happen, goading them towards an even deeper connection...

Without warning, Draco’s own magic flared up around them, startling Hermione from her thoughts as it readily enveloped them. Free from the constraints of the curse, it bristled in the air, swirling and crackling with newfound release. This was something they had not prepared for. She should have guessed that after years of suppression, his magic would be difficult to control. 

_She had just dealt with the curse, and now she had to deal with this?_ Hermione thought warily.

“Malfoy” She pleaded, her voice laced with concern. “You need to focus. You have to control your magic. Remember what you told me—you can do this.” 

Draco’s eyes remained tightly shut as his magic continued to swarm and crackle in pulsing waves around them.

Hermione blinked as she stared at him, realising that she had never before been witness to this part of his magic—of who he was as a wizard. For the past two weeks, she had sensed the curse within him and nothing else. But this was purely Draco Malfoy, and his magic was neither dark nor dangerous...

“The ritual worked, Malfoy. It really worked.” Thinking back to all their hard work and doubts, she smiled widely with relief. “Your magic is back. I can feel it.” 

His tense expression still refused to waver. 

Draco’s unbridled magical energy could hurt them both if he didn’t gain some semblance of control over it. He already knew this; she could feel his distress over his loss of control through their bond.

Not knowing how else to help, she slowly brought her hand up and placed it on his cheek, attempting to soothe his anxious state. 

As her hand cupped his cheek, an electric pulse coursed through her unexpectantly, stealing her breath as an unknown spasm shot through her hand and dispersed a burning need between them. Draco’s eyes snapped open as their bond flared up, their souls basking in the liquid fire caused by the bare touch of their skin. Before Hermione could step backwards or rip her hand away from the newfound sensation, Draco surged forward to meet her lips with his own. 

She should have known that it would be a bad idea to touch him. Their soul-bond had yet to settle. She could even temporarily feel his emotions through the raw connection. Between the newly formed bond and Draco’s own influx of unbridled magic, it was inevitable that this would happen...

His hands gripped her hair tightly, pulling her towards him as he sought to gain as much physical contact with her as possible. Hermione arched against him as the relentless heat continued to course through her veins: the freshly formed bond enticing them to reach out and intimately connect with each other in every way possible. 

Nimble fingers trailed along her back as his other hand reached for the curve of her thigh, hitching her leg around his hip as he pressed her more firmly against him. Hermione’s soft whimper at the feel of his hardening length was met with a satisfactory groan as she desperately ground herself against him—relishing in the sensation of being so close. 

She could feel an aching emptiness inside of her. She needed _more._ She needed them to become one in every way.  
  
Nothing else was important. Only this new bond between them. 

Hermione was completely lost to both his magic swarming around her and the feel of the bond coursing through them. Gasping softly as he nipped at her neck, she dug her fingers into his shoulders, clawing her nails down his back as he continued his assault on her senses.

With an animalistic growl, he reclaimed her lips, pulling her completely flush against him as her body eagerly gave into the unashamed need burning through them. Feeling his tongue seek entry through the deepening kiss, Hermione sighed happily as he ground harder against her, meeting every arch of her back with a roll of his hips. 

Hermione could feel herself succumbing to the friction with his every touch—with every vibration of pleasure; the mounting desire spurring her need for him to simply vanish their clothing and join their bodies in a rough display of frantic need. 

She needed more. 

She needed to be closer to him. 

Her hand trailed down his side as she slipped her fingers under the hem of his shirt. The soft skin of his abdomen like satin beneath her featherlight touch as her fingertips grazed the supple contours of his hips. He pulled back for air before delving into the kiss with newfound passion as her hand snaked its way beneath his shirt: the electrical impulses still tingling through the contact of their bare skin. 

Hermione’s blood coursed like fire through her every nerve as her heart thumped wildly against her chest. She could feel the tell-tale tightening deep within her as her breath balled up with her every gasp—waiting with anticipation for the unravelling release she needed. 

This was primal. This was raw. 

Her fingers skimmed lightly over his chest, brushing over the raised skin of a scar which seemed to spread across his upper body in haphazard directions. The remnants of a dark spell from long ago…

It was as if Hermione had been doused with a bucket of iced water. The mere thought of the harrowing scar had broken through the fog clouding her mind, ripping her from the lust-filled haze as she realised what was going on. 

The scar... _sectemsempra_... this was _Malfoy._

This was wrong. 

Gasping loudly, she felt the swarming magic suddenly snap back towards Draco with startling speed, the crackling energy no longer unrestrained around him. He had obviously come to the same conclusion when Hermione’s revelation broke through the bond’s enticing hold, the shock of their embrace enticing his magic back within his control. 

Draco dropped her leg from around his hip as he stepped backwards with a horrified expression, hastily fixing his shirt which she had only moments before been trying to get off of him. 

“No.” He declared, his voice strangled. “We... I can’t. I won’t.”

Hermione gaped at him in shock. _He_ was the one who started it! Who knows how far they would have gone if she hadn’t been able to break them out of the bond’s alluring hold. 

A strong feeling of regret pulsed through her. Though, she couldn’t discern whether it was her own emotional response, or Draco’s. The bond between them was still too new—too volatile. She could obviously sense his emotions and from what had just happened, she probably shouldn’t touch him again until the bond settled… 

“I’m sorry.” She whispered plaintively, realising her error. “I didn’t know that would happen.” 

He shot her an exasperated look as a faint blush flickered across his cheeks. 

“Do not presume to ever touch me again.”

Hermione nodded solemnly. How could she have known that the new magic of the bond would influence his reactions towards her? It wasn’t as if she had wanted to kiss him either; the bond had taken them _both_ completely by surprise.

Before she could realise what was happening, a chilling sensation gripped her as Draco swayed on the spot weakly. The ritual had taken too much energy out of him: particularly the loss of blood and his later display of unchecked magic. Years of constant attacks from the curse had left him with minimal strength and energy as it was. Tonight had simply proven to be too much for his already weakened body.

“Kr–Kra–” He rasped, falling to his knees as he fought against the crushing fatigue. Hermione watched in silent horror as Draco’s body shuddered one last time, the breath leaving his lungs with a hoarse sound before his eyes closed and he fell limply to the floor. 

What in Merlin’s name was happening _now?_ Why did this keep happening to him? She would need a calming drought just to contemplate everything that had already occurred tonight…

Kneeling next to the unconscious form of Draco Malfoy, it felt almost reminiscent of the time when she had first watched the effects of the curse shamelessly attack his tremoring body. Now, Draco remained completely still before her. The slight, but steady rise and fall of his chest providing the only indication that he was alive. 

Even the bond between them seemed faint and distant.

Glancing around the Death Chamber, Hermione stiffened as the hushed voices from beyond the veil began to whisper more animatedly again. 

_She needed to get Malfoy out of here..._

He had tried to call the house-elf before he had collapsed, but it was no use. They were stuck.

The hum of the veil grew louder and louder, seemingly excited at the prospect of the unconscious wizard laying on the dais, right in front of the stone arch. 

Hermione would not let them take his soul. 

Not now. Not when she had just devoted her own soul to saving his. 

_The bond!_ She realised with a start, drawing in a rattled breath as she looked around the chamber with newfound determination. _They were soul-tethered. Joined through one of the most magically sound rituals known to wizarding kind…_

“Skabby!” Hermione called out into the empty chamber, desperate for her assumption to be correct.   
  
Nothing. 

“S-ska-bby!” She clutched the front of Draco’s cloak as his breathing became more laboured. 

Hermione’s voice caught in her throat as she made to call again before the resounding ‘pop’ of apparition suddenly filled the chamber, stilling her voice. Standing next to her: pointed ears and large, round eyes, stood the Malfoy house-elf. 

“Mistress called.” It croaked, dipping its head just low enough for it to be considered a bow. 

She could almost cry from relief at the mere sight of the reluctant creature before her. Hermione didn’t even care about its obvious show of displeasure at having to serve her; the house-elf had come to their aid, and that was all that mattered. 

“Please.” She gasped out, gripping Draco’s unconscious form. “He needs help. Please, get us out of here.”


	11. What lies beneath

The shrill squawk of a bird pulled Hermione from the depths of her dreams. With bleared eyes snapping open to meet the sight of a decorative, satin canopy above her, she momentarily forgot where she was. Unsettled by the overwhelming feeling of displacement, Hermione sat up with a gasp, clutching the luxurious blanket to her chest as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings. 

Noting the tall windows, decadent wallpaper and obscenely outdated, though extravagant furnishings, Hermione knew that she was in Malfoy Manor; in the room that the house-elf had escorted her to only a handful of hours prior.

Her head fell back against the pillow before she promptly rolled over and buried her face into the plush object, muffling her growl of frustration regarding the whole situation. 

In all the confusion last night—in the early hours of the morning—after they had returned from the Ministry, she had forgotten to silence her room. 

Lifting her head from the pillow, Hermione fixed her gaze on the small balcony attached to her quarters. There on the railing, was the blasted peacock: her current nemesis. Of all the balconies which the Manor boasted, it had chosen to perch on this one. Why anyone would even think to own a peacock, still baffled her.

 _Of course, the Malfoy’s would own peacocks,_ she thought, blowing at a wayward curl of her hair with an irritable huff. They were the most conspicuous birds one could imagine—and this particular over-grown chicken, had definitely made its presence known. 

Now wide awake, Hermione easily slipped out from the bed, her feet landing softly on the plush carpet. Still clutching the blanket, she wrapped it around her shoulders before making her way over to the nearest window—desperate for some fresh air to soothe her disquieted thoughts. It was still mostly dark outside; the sun had yet to fully rise. Feeling a distinct weariness in her body, she knew that her short bout of rest had been inadequate. 

Decidedly, Hermione moved to stand in front of the balcony doors before pushing them open with more force than was necessary. The doors swung open with a jarring ‘ _swoosh_ ,’ startling the pompous, white bird that immediately took off in a flurry of feathers. 

Making a mental note to ward her balcony from any future visits of over-zealous ‘ _pets,’_ she gazed out in appreciation of the resplendent Wiltshire estate. Though the Manor itself remained a bitter notion in her mind, the grounds were rather enchanting. The bright, early rays of sunshine crept across the majestic landscape, contrasting the faint, lingering darkness of the star-studded sky. 

Trying to focus on the serene sight before her, Hermione became agitated as her thoughts kept circling back to last night. 

They had landed in an ungraceful heap within the middle of the foyer. Still clutching Malfoy’s coat tightly within her hand—her knuckles white as she clung to him in fear that the veil would somehow take his soul—Hermione had cried out for help, not even knowing if Narcissa was near enough to hear her.

Fighting against the sobs which wracked her shock-filled body, she had screamed for Lady Malfoy; the house-elf had simply ignored her, ducking its head before disappearing. 

It had only taken a few moments before Narcissa had barged into the room, the house-elf at her heels. With a strangled cry, she was soon kneeling at Draco’s side, demanding to know what had happened—her voice frightfully devoid of emotion.

Releasing her grip, Hermione’s hands had started to shake violently at the sight of all the blood staining her skin.

Although the blood that they had spilt on the dais would have long since merged into the magic of the ancient stones by now, their dark crimson offering had not left them unscathed when Malfoy had dropped to the floor—subsequently bringing her down with him. The remnants of dried blood had covered them both, interspersed only by the trails of their sweat and tears. 

Staring through unseeing eyes at the motionless form of Malfoy in front of her, Hermione had somehow managed to recount what had happened.

_‘The veil—the veil was too st-strong—the soul-tethering—curse not prop-properly removed before—before I could complete the bond—re-removing it—took too much—too much energy out of him...’_

Once Narcissa had heard Hermione’s barely legible account, everything else transpired in what had seemed like a single moment. She had scarcely noticed Lady Malfoy gently levitating Draco’s body from the floor before Hermione herself had been whisked away by the house-elf.

It was the last thing that she could remember before she had suddenly found herself within her new quarters. Having moved robotically through the usual administrations, Hermione’s bloodied clothes had been forgotten in a pile on the floor whilst she had attempted to rid herself of any evidence pertaining to the Death Chamber.

The sight of Draco’s unmoving body smeared with blood, had spurred her memories of the war and final battle. The disturbing images had once more plagued her thoughts whilst she had harshly scrubbed at her skin—frantically trying to forget the sounds of the many souls that had called out to her... 

_Had any of the souls been those whom they had lost during the war?_

During the chaos which had followed the ritual, Hermione hadn’t even thought to heal the deep cuts on both of their palms. A fact which had only made itself clear whilst she had been soaking in the oversized bathtub, her body paralyzed with shock as she stared at the deep gash on her hand. 

_Malfoy was soul-tethered to her._

That sinking realisation had been enough to calm her otherwise frenzied state.

She had saved his life. The curse was gone. She was going to dedicate her life to correcting the oppressive regime still gripping the magical world.

However, once the adrenalin had worn off, she had barely managed to drag herself out from the bathroom and into her bed before the overwhelming exhaustion unceremoniously claimed her too.

Now, standing on the balcony, Hermione breathed in deeply; closing her eyes as the frigid morning air filled her lungs. Exhaling slowly, her breath dissipated in a warm cloud of air before her as she felt the gentle rays of the sun finally breach the horizon and flicker across her face. 

She could do this. 

She had come so far already. 

The Wizangamot and Ministry were merely one step away in her plans.

Turning back towards her room, Hermione felt compelled to write to her friends to let them know that the ritual had been a success. Harry was bound to show up at the front gates with a team of Aurors if she didn’t contact him soon, ensuring him that she was okay. 

Absently moving towards a quaint little writing desk in the corner of the room, Hermione sighed contentedly at the sight of the crisp, white parchment stacked neatly next to a rather fancy quill. 

_I_ _f only she had a Malfoy insignia with which to seal her letters,_ she mused, wistfully smiling with unchecked amusement as she sat down to write.

The thought alone of Ron’s horrified expression upon receiving a letter sealed in such a way, had helped to cheer the otherwise downtrodden mood which she had awoken with.

* * *

  
Unfortunately, by the time lunch rolled around, Hermione was positively irritable. No matter how hard she tried to refocus her thoughts, something just didn’t seem right. Her ill-temper and feelings of unease were becoming increasingly unbearable. 

Having no other reasonable explanation for her newfound disposition, she concluded that it must be from the bond. The bond was still settling. Not only could she still feel traces of Malfoy’s emotions, but she still longed to be closer to him.

Thus, she was effectively confined to the Malfoy estate for the duration of the next few days, unable to venture much further from Draco so soon after the soul-bond had been enacted between them.

 _‘_ _Avoiding unnecessary discomfort.’_

Those had been the words Narcissa had uttered when Hermione had approached her earlier that morning: requesting the use of an owl for her personal correspondence.

Lady Malfoy had promptly felt the need to pointedly remind her about the delicate nature of newly-formed soul-bonds. Not that Hermione _needed_ any reminding. The memory of being locked in a passionate embrace with Draco, perfectly sufficed as not only a stern warning, but as the sole cause for a deep blush every time Hermione found herself thinking back to that embarrassing, heated display. 

Thankfully, she had received quick replies from both Harry and Ron. Even Marissa had written back to ensure her that everything at the Ministry would be taken care of over the next few days. However, Hermione’s joy upon reading her two friends’ heartfelt responses, had only lasted momentarily. The soonest that she would see them again, would be that Friday night... at hers and Malfoy’s ‘ _congratulatory’_ ball. 

For the next fifty-six hours and counting, she was well and truly isolated from the rest of the wizarding world.

Stuck within the confines of the very place she had been so loath to reside within from the start; Hermione became astutely miserable. Though she avoided the East wing entirely, the manor still proved to be a foreboding place.

Constantly bothered by the overwhelming sense of unease, Hermione had sought a way to distract herself by any means necessary. As long as she never left the estate, she had been given permission to do as she pleased. It was strange to be given free reign within the Malfoys home, even though Hermione knew that Narcissa had probably expected her to remain in her room all day—trying on the new designer dresses and robes that had been specifically tailored for her. 

In fact, Hermione’s new quarters had been lavishly stocked with everything a witch could either need or want. From an array of scented soaps to a whole separate walk-in closet—which consisted of not only her new wardrobe, but an entire fleet of extravagant shoes—if it weren’t for her desire of more familiar comforts, she wouldn’t have needed anything from her trusty beaded bag.

Nevertheless, Hermione hadn’t hesitated in exploring her new home. After breakfast, she had taken to wandering the many hallways, her wand at the ready to silence every rude portrait which she happened to pass. Lost in her irritable musings regarding maps and trails of breadcrumbs, she had somehow found herself wandering past the set of doors which she knew led into Draco’s rooms. 

Unsurprisingly, the constant feeling of unease had dulled momentarily whilst she stood before the entrance to Malfoy’s chambers. Had she been subconsciously seeking his presence; mindlessly following the pull of the bond without realising it?

She hadn’t seen him since they had arrived back from the Ministry. Laced with various potions: blood-replenishing, dreamless-sleep, and whatever else Lady Malfoy had deemed necessary to administer, she knew that he wouldn’t wake until at least the next day.

Though he remained unconscious beyond those doors, Hermione could feel the bond hum contentedly at the lessened distance between them. 

Unfortunately, the feeling of content was not to last. Still deliberating outside of Malfoy’s doorway, she had never felt more like an intruder than at that moment. Hermione had been traipsing through hallways where she ought not to ever be found, unknowingly seeking the physical connection between their two souls once again. 

With a self-depreciating sigh, she turned from the entrance to Draco’s chambers: stalking down the hallway as she fought against her protesting emotions. 

_Damn the soul-bond._

Wandering aimlessly, Hermione had almost given up her exploration after finding a room which served solely as a showcase. There were shelves and cases brimming with countless awards—from quidditch trophies to Wizangamot medals of recognition—the room served as a shrine to many of the Malfoy family’s achievements. 

Wrinkling her nose at the glaring display, she closed the door with a defeated notion of returning to her room and calling it a day. Though, to be expected, Hermione’s sullen thoughts dissipated when she stumbled upon the entrance to the library merely a few doors down…

Recalling the copious books and tomes listed within the Malfoy marriage proposal contract, Hermione had stood within the large entryway, staring in awe at the colossal size of the library before her.

The room itself had to be at least three stories tall. Accented by equally tall windows, the golden sunlight streaming through them acted as a halo which basked the thousands of books, scrolls and ancient tomes in a glorifying light. 

It was everything she had hoped for, and nothing she had expected it to be. 

Indeed, there were many bookcases dedicated to the dark arts and questionable uses of magic… though the entirety of the Malfoy’s collection, would be rivalled only by that of the Hogwarts library and perhaps the Ministry archives.

Books and various sources were strictly controlled and mandated with regards to public or student access. Anything deemed inappropriate or irrelevant would be promptly removed from the shelves. 

Private libraries, much to her excitement, held no such qualms.

Hermione had even found textbooks dating back to the years when Hogwarts had been taught by its respective founders. The teachings were outdated, but the texts themselves were a marvel.

Barely containing her excitement at the thought of all the rare works she had never dreamed of getting her hands on, she had promptly made herself comfortable on one of the plush armchairs by the large fireplace. 

Over a thousand years’ worth of books were suddenly at her disposal. 

Hermione had finally found a semblance of happiness within Malfoy manor, even forgetting the constant ache in her soul as she contentedly flipped through the pages of _‘Hogwarts a History: first edition.’_

* * *

  
It was there in the library, where Hermione found herself the following day. Having fallen asleep early the night before—her body still wary and drained from the ritual—she had awoken with a new resolve. Fortunately, the constant feeling of unease had already noticeably lessened and it was an added relief that the effects of the bond had begun to wane. 

The transition would have probably gone more smoothly had her and Malfoy remained physically closer after the ritual, but she had had no other choice but to wait it out. Between Draco’s weakened state and the increased strength of the combined ritual: the bond was uncommonly unstable. 

Not that the bond would ever falter or dissipate. It simply needed time to settle against their own magic and embrace the new connection between them. One could only describe the process as similar to that of a newly-lit fire: burning bright and hot before finally quietening down to the gentle warmth of smouldering embers.

Lounging comfortably with her feet tucked up beneath her, Hermione was transfixed in the book she had found shortly after entering the library. 

_‘_ _Muggleborns: a rare insight into the origins of magic’_

Who would have thought that such a book would be located within a pureblood home? Though, she had already seen many _surprising_ titles hidden away within the uppermost shelves. Maybe, the rumours that the Malfoy’s had once been closely associated with muggles were true after all. Thinking back to the reactions of the family portraits, it was hard to imagine a time when the Malfoy’s had fought against the statute of secrecy and the separation from muggle society.   
  
Not that it had mattered; The Malfoys still held numerous business investments within the muggle world. Gold was still gold, no matter the source.

Not paying attention to the overt shift in the bond—which had been changing in temperament all morning—Hermione failed to acknowledge the peaceful mood that had enveloped her.

“I should have known that I would find you here.” Draco’s voice sounded from right behind her. 

With a startled yelp, Hermione’s brows pulled together in a perceptible frown as she swivelled upon the chair—ready to berate his careless interruption. However, her heated words died in her throat as she appraised him.

Standing but a few feet behind her, she was surprised at how different Malfoy suddenly seemed. No longer trembling occasionally from the effects of the curse, or leaning against the nearest surface for support; Draco Malfoy looked much taller… and much healthier. Gone were the darkened circles beneath his eyes—which had returned to their normal light grey too.

Stunned at his transformation, she merely gaped at the almost unrecognisable wizard. 

“It’s rubbish you know.” He stated, casually gesturing to the book within her hands. “You should read _‘Bolridge’s guide to magical lineage’_ instead. It’s much more feasible that muggleborns are the result of squib ancestry.”

“I _have_ read it.”

Raising his brow at her sharp tone, he sat down in one of the remaining armchairs by the fireplace.

“You’re upset” His eyes narrowed when she hummed in affirmation. “…with me. Why?” 

“Well, if you must know.” Hermione offered, her irritable expression betraying her attempts to remain calm and collected. “You failed to inform me that I would be _imprisoned_ here—for nearly _three_ days—once we completed the ritual. I keep getting lost whilst simply trying to find my room. I’m expected to dress up for every meal, and not only am I confined to the Malfoy estate, but between the ritual practices and now _this,_ ” She waved her hand between them in an attempt to signify the bond. “I haven’t been able to see my friends for over a week, thanks to _you!_ ” 

“I didn’t know the bond would have this effect—at least, not this intensely!” Draco hastily reiterated as she glared at him scathingly. “I’m no more enthralled by the outcome than you are. As for everything else, that’s not really my concern... but how have I stopped your ridiculous _pride_ of Gryffindors from barrelling through the floo and probably scuffing up the floors in their haste to _rescue_ you?” 

“I was expressly prohibited from receiving any visitors until you had awoken.” She continued, unperturbed by his bark of laughter at her considerably souring tone. “Any overt _excitement_ you felt through the bond would apparently rouse you from your beauty sleep... though, we both know that you were under the effects of a decidedly potent, dreamless sleep-potion.”

“To think that I was apprehensive at the thought of what I would be waking up to…” His smirk grew wider when she scoffed in disbelief. “I was certain that you would have had the entire Weasley clan—and every stray mongrel that they have adopted, joining you for tea at the earliest chance.” 

“Don’t tempt me.” 

“Good luck getting _that_ past my mother.”

“Oh sure, because having to dine alone with your mother isn’t awkward enough already.” She drawled sarcastically. “Of course _I_ would be stuck with someone who still lives with their parents.”

Draco remained unapologetically amused by her tirade. 

“I assure you Granger, my mother will undoubtedly express her equal displeasure when next I speak with her.” 

“How unfortunate.” Growing wary of the increasingly pointless banter, she returned her attention to her book.

Although, much to her chagrin, Draco continued to lounge in the armchair across from her. Besides from shifting to a more comfortable position, he otherwise remained silent.

Eyes darting up over the pages of the book which she had promptly concealed herself behind, Hermione observed her unlikely companion for a prolonged moment. Malfoy was lounged with both his legs swung over the armrest, hands crossed behind his head as he stared out the window—lost in his thoughts.

“Ahem.” She cleared her throat, gaining the attention of the all too comfortable wizard across from her. “What are you doing?” 

“Always asking such obvious questions. I’m relaxing. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but it’s been a rather strenuous few days…”

“What are you doing relaxing _here_.” 

Draco sighed before meeting her questioning gaze once again. “It’s not because I _want_ to be here… but it’s a lot more… _comfortable_ , to be near you… for now.” 

Hermione couldn’t deny his reasoning. Considering that the constant unease she felt predominantly stemmed from her temporary ability to sense some of his emotions, she imagined that it was probably a lot worse for him.

“Fine.” She snapped. “But you better not bother me.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes at her remark. “Yeah whatever, Granger.” Leaning back once more, he basked in the sunlight streaming through the window, the brilliant rays shining directly across the armchair he had very strategically draped himself across. 

Though she would never admit it, she was grateful that Malfoy’s proximity would afford her a much-needed reprieve. The past few days had indeed been strenuous and Hermione relished the tranquil opportunity to devote her mind to such a wonderous collection of books.

Unfortunately, not even an hour had passed before Malfoy became evidently restless.

She didn’t say anything, but she glanced up the minute he withdrew his wand from his sleeve: his expression betraying his curiosity as he held it idly within his left hand.

Draco absently twirled the wand between his fingers, his eyes brightening as colourful sparks shot out from the end. Hermione shook her head as the sparks crackled in the air above where he sat, noticing the way he stared up with the same look of wonderment as that of a first year standing within Ollivander’s shop—holding their new wand for the first time.

Pointing the wand to his right, Draco gave a half smile as the fireplace mantle abruptly turned an alarming shade of bright green. 

Hermione continued to watch in silent amusement whilst Malfoy, in all sincerity, _played_ with his magic. She stifled a giggle as he summoned a book from a nearby shelf; the book floating neatly towards him before falling onto his lap. With a triumphant exclamation, he made to point his wand again, though, she had decided it was necessary to interrupt him.

“You’re supposed to be taking it easy, Malfoy. It’s only been less than two days.” 

Draco flinched at her words; swivelling around to face her, he appeared almost embarrassed at having been caught.

“Mmph.” He grumbled, defeatedly lowering his wand as he made to pick up the book on his lap. “I suppose you think that you now have the right to boss me around like you do with your two hapless friends. Forgive me if I don’t swoon at the prospect... I for one, am accustomed to thinking for myself, you see.” 

“Maybe you should try reading that book you just summoned, Malfoy.” She suggested in a lilting voice, having learnt to ignore his goading. “Merlin knows you need a distraction.” 

“You want me to _read_?” He sneered, looking at the book with sudden distaste. “I hadn't even planned on _seeing_ another book before realising that you intended to hide in the library all day.” 

Hermione snorted as she flipped the page she had finished reading with a sharp turn of her wrist. “Oh? Do tell me what else you had intended to do today? I was under the impression we were both confided to this estate.” 

“To the estate; not the _library_.” A petulant tone had crept into his voice. “I was planning on using my time productively… like going flying or playing quidditch. I have remained indoors for longer than I care to say. Yet here you are, so here I must remain.” 

“Quidditch, really?” She rolled her eyes, closing the book with a sharp thud. “You could have just asked. I would have accompanied you outside.” 

Draco shrugged his shoulders with disinterest. 

“How is it that you don’t like Quidditch? Both your friends relish the sport… Come to think of it, even the Weaslette plays for the Holyhead Harpies.” He mused aloud, still focused on the lawns that were visible from where they sat.

“One doesn’t have to share all of their friends’ interests. I can’t imagine you had much in common with Crabbe and Goyle besides from an obvious pleasure in tormenting those around you.”

Draco glared at her from the corner of his eye before a snide smirk stretched across his face.

“I’m impressed, Granger... you almost hurt my feelings. Surely, I have a more formidable reputation than that?”

“That’s not true.” Hermione whispered, the words floating between them as he turned to look at her in disbelief. “Dark things may have happened around you—or were enforced onto you—but you were never evil. Not truly. I felt your magic… you’re not a dark wizard, Malfoy.” 

Draco visibly stiffened as she finished her sentence. Sitting up straight, he faced her with a serious expression. In a single movement, he held up his lift forearm between them whilst pulling up the sleeve. 

“It’s gone. I had hoped, but I never thought that...” The muscles in his jaw tightened as attempted to suppress his emotions. “The ritual removed the Dark Mark as well as the curse.” 

Hermione stared with wide eyes at his bare forearm. She too, was taken aback by the mark’s disappearance. Though, it did make sense when one considered that the curse itself was what resulted in the Dark Mark fully binding with the body.

“That’s—that’s great.” She breathed shakily, meeting his gaze as he nodded slowly. 

“Thank you.” Draco addressed her with surprising sincerity. 

Hermione gaped at him; she had still been processing the fact that his Dark Mark was completely gone, only to be met with Malfoy’s unexpected gratitude. 

“If only I could remove the darkness from the Manor.” She smiled faintly, attempting to lighten the sudden dip in the mood between them. 

His eyes widened fractionally at her statement before he calmly rolled his sleeve back down and rose from his chair. Straightening to his full height, Draco made to move towards the door before he stopped and turned towards her. 

“Would you mind if I showed you something?” He asked, gesturing to the door with a subtle turn of his head. 

Still sitting, she shook her head stiffly in response

Shrugging his shoulders, Draco turned towards the library entrance once more, leaving Hermione frowning with confusion at his retreating form.

“Wait!” She called out, springing to her feet as she realised how he could have mistaken her response. “I meant that no, I don’t mind you showing me something.” 

Knowing that she would be back later, she placed her book on the armchair. Walking over to where he now stood, she almost smiled at the distinct changes from when he had previously wanted her to follow him. Not only had he asked if she _wanted_ to join him—rather than simply commanding her—Draco Malfoy had even waited for her at the door this time. 

Reminding herself that they were supposed to be on civil terms, she chose not to point out his shockingly _considerate_ behaviour towards her. 

“Lead the way.” Hermione waved her hand flippantly, intent on putting at least a few feet between them. Merciful Morgana help her, but she would not risk accidentally brushing his hand with her own if she were to walk next to him…

* * *

  
“Where are we?” Hermione asked, lifting her wand while muttering a quick ‘ _lumos_.’ 

“We’re beneath the Manor.” Draco answered in a hushed tone, raising his wand and casting the same charm. The combined light illuminated the narrow stone passage before them as she looked around with wonder. “These are the foundations of the previous Manor house: built when my ancestors first settled in Wiltshire over a thousand years ago.” 

Even through the dim lighting, she could see a brief flash of pride within his eyes as he surveyed their new surroundings.

“These aren’t… the dungeons… are they?” She asked hesitantly, knowing that Voldemort had used the dungeons to hold prisoners during the war. 

Turning away from the steps they had just descended, Draco shot her a reproachful look over his shoulder.

“No. I wouldn’t take you _there_.” 

“Oh.” Her posture relaxed significantly as they continued down the arched passageway. 

“—and it’s a _Manor_ , not a castle; there’s a _cellar_ , not a dungeon.” He added, his voice betraying his slight annoyance.

 _Cellar or dungeon_ , she mused. _Was there any difference if they were both used for the same purpose?_

They walked in silence through the damp, echoing passageway for a few minutes. Hermione was reminded of the passageway located between Hogwarts and Honeydukes. Guessing that the two similarly narrowed and arched designs would have been built around relatively the same time, it was probably an apt comparison. 

_It was fascinating really, some of the historical ties which many of the pureblood families boasted,_ Hermione reflected in a rare instance of appreciation towards their outdated ways. _Though, was that his reason for showing her the old manor foundations, to boast?_

Draco suddenly stopped and veered down the passage to their left; she had been forced to swallow an alarmed squeak when she had almost gone crashing straight into the back of him. 

_Had it really been wise of them to venture down here together... alone?_

It wasn’t much longer before he brought them to a complete halt in the middle of a much wider, enclosed space. With her wand still held out before her, she briefly cast the brilliant white light over their surroundings: grimacing at the tell-tale scuffling sound of rats scampering away from them.

“Is this where you’re planning to keep me locked up?” She hissed. “What is it you’re supposed to be showing me, Malfoy?” 

Draco merely flicked his wand, cancelling his own emanating charm in reply. 

His muffled laughter echoed softly around them as Hermione flinched in response to the pitch darkness suddenly encroaching around her solitary source of wand-light. If she were to cancel her own charm, she doubted she would be able to see even her own hand held out in front of her.

“Trust me.” 

Hermione grit her teeth as she wordlessly countered her light with a quick ‘ _nox_.’ Blinking rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness, it wasn’t long before she was met with the most enthralling sight. 

The very walls, floor and ceiling seemed to radiate with an otherworldly glow. She could even see the turgid ripples of magic pulsing from the earth below and throughout the very foundations within which they stood. 

“What you see is the evidence of centuries of magic. Magic which has been imparted over the lives of every wizard and witch ever to have resided within this estate. The whole Manor—the whole estate, it radiates with traces of my ancestors’ magic. There is much more to this property than the darkness you associate it with...” 

Hermione observed the glimmering foundations with mounting awe. The manor had more similarities to Hogwarts than she had originally imagined. On a much smaller scale, the very structure and foundations of Malfoy manor had been imbued with the magical build-up from centuries of spells, charms and magical bursts of energy emitted by hundreds of wizards and witches over the many years. Such a strong build-up of familial magic was sure to resonate throughout the entire estate: strengthening not only the boundary wards, but also providing an innate awareness to all those who shared the same familial, magical signature. 

Draco could probably sense this build-up of familial magic residue throughout every corner of the estate. 

“I—I didn’t know.”

“I wanted you to see that the Manor is not a place of dark magic. My ancestors chose this location for the natural magic held within the land alone.” Draco whispered as he moved to stand right next to her. “I had hoped that you might afford the same leniency towards this home—the same leniency which you not so long ago afforded me—based on your assessment of my own magical signature.” 

Hermione grimaced in contemplation. Was it even possible for her to change her perception of the place where she had been unceremoniously tortured? Where Voldemort had resided and had probably tortured—if not killed, countless others besides her…

Having seen her pinched expression, Draco sighed deeply.

“Place your hand on the wall, Granger.” His tone was still hushed as he moved forward and beckoned her over. 

Noticing how his sharp, pale features reflected the subtle glow around them as he stood next to the wall, looking towards her expectantly; Hermione couldn’t help but step closer. Nervously, she placed her palm flat against the radiating surface, wincing slightly when Draco made to place his hand over hers.

“Relax. I’m not going to touch you.” 

Holding his hand barely an inch above her own, Malfoy’s expression became concentrated as Hermione suddenly felt the pulsing magic beneath her hand and all around them. She could sense it, the innate amalgamation of all those who had lived within these walls. Closing her eyes, she opened her mind to the hundreds of magical traces being presented before her; baffled by the sheer beauty of their interwoven nature. Each glimmer, each unique magical signature: pulsed with bright energy—with light. 

There was no dark magic here.

Draco’s hand dropped back to his side as Hermione opened her eyes and stepped away from the wall. 

“What Voldemort did within this home was inexcusable. My father, he should have objected… but even the Dark Lord knew the benefits of residing in such an ancient, magical household. I’m not saying that you should ignore or forget what happened here during the war. I just wanted you to know the reason we have to live here; why we can never move or tear this place down to the ground... As I told you before, there is a familial history here that exceeds beyond us. Though I cannot change what happened here... It has not changed the magical core of this estate. I promise that you—and our child, will be protected within these walls.” 

_’our child’_

He had said those words so casually, but to Hermione, nothing could be less simple. 

Admittedly, the Manor didn’t seem so foreboding anymore; the familial magic was truly remarkable. Though, she still resented the prospect of raising her child in the very household she had been mutilated within.

No matter what Draco said... she could never forget _that_. 

Ironically, Malfoy’s Dark Mark had been removed, though, the harrowing mark on her own forearm still remained. 

’ _protected_ ’  
  
Did he not realise that it was already too late? 

Flicking her wrist sharply, the subtle glow around them disappeared as they were immediately bathed in the bright light of her wand once more. 

“You shouldn’t make such promises.” Hermione stated in a clipped voice, refusing to meet Draco’s hardened glare as his wand similarly lit up before him. “Not even _you_ were safe within these walls.” 


	12. Dancing, and other forms of torture

Sitting on the lawns of the estate, Hermione dug her toes into the cool, freshly manicured grass beneath her. Leafing through the obscenely large book upon her lap, she could almost smile with contentment—almost. 

Draco had shown up outside her rooms at the crack of dawn, his broom in one arm and her current occupation tucked up underneath the other. Between his blank expression and casual state of attire, she had quickly deduced that it would be her turn to tail him for the day. Mumbling that she would be ready in ten minutes before slamming the door in his face, Hermione now found herself perched next to an expansive lawn that served as a make-shift quidditch field. 

Somehow, they had formed what appeared to be a truce for the duration of their confinement. A wordless understanding had passed between them that once the ball commenced, Hermione would be free to come and go as she pleased, and he would no longer have to endure their close proximity. Although Hermione was allowed to invite her friends over to the Manor now that Draco was awake, they had reluctantly concluded that it would be easier to remain in one another’s sole company whilst the bond proved to be a hindrance. 

He had even returned to the library after showing her the Manor’s foundations, silently paging through quidditch magazines or testing simple spells whilst she read in the armchair next to him.

This morning, however, presented an entirely different scenario. 

Draco was swooshing around the field, riding what appeared to be the latest and fastest racing broom: The Nimbus 3000, whatever that meant. His whole countenance had changed since he had first kicked off from the ground. With his muscles no longer weakened or affected by tremors, he had eagerly taken full advantage of his newfound strength and energy. Having released a selection of practice snitches—charmed to remain within the boundaries of the field—Draco was still racing across the sky, endeavouring to catch every single one of them. 

_At least someone is having fun,_ Hermione thought to herself grumpily as she watched him dive towards the ground before tilting the handle of the broom, swerving upwards at the last second. Shaking her head at his reckless display, Hermione was about to resume her task at hand when Draco suddenly landed on the ground right in front of her, sticky with sweat, but smiling broadly. 

“This model has excellent reflexes.” He boasted, eyeing the broom approvingly. “It turns beautifully.”

“Yes, I saw that.” Hermione rolled her eyes at his description of the broom; ‘beautiful’ was not a word she would have thought of whilst hurtling towards the ground at such a speed.

Draco gently placed the broom next to him as he sat down, still grinning from the excitement. Laughing at her tense expression, he slicked his hair back before reclining against the grass with his hands behind his head.

“Worried about me, were you?” He drawled, his eyes scanning the sky as a flash of gold streaked above them.

“It would be nothing that skele-grow couldn’t handle.” She replied drily, scoffing at his still chuffed expression. “You’re in a good mood.” 

“Mmhm.” Draco smiled as he breathed in deeply. “There’s not a library in sight.”

“Oh, ha, ha. You’re not the one stuck with the most boring book known to wizarding-kind.” 

“Well, _you’re_ the one who wanted me to ‘ _teach_ ’ you how the Ministry works. Don’t take your frustrations out on me just because you had to start with the basics. It’s not my fault that you know practically nothing.” 

“How is this the basics?” Hermione bristled, citing the page before her in a mocking tone. “ _Allard Flint, married to Luella Flint—nee Birch: Head of the Flint household since 1987_ … how riveting.” 

“I was made to read that book before starting Hogwarts.” Draco shrugged before turning to look at her. “You need to know this information, Granger. Tonight, is your perfect opportunity to make an impression. It’s as I said, more political decisions are made outside of the Ministry, than within it.” 

She was about to reply when a loud, crashing noise drew their attention towards the Manor. From what she could see, two of the wizards busy setting up for the ball, had knocked over a large ice sculpture whilst charming the back garden with strings of lights. Both Hermione and Draco watched silently as Lady Malfoy appeared seemingly out of nowhere, berating the wizards heatedly in a tone that Hermione could only hope she herself would never be on the receiving end of. 

“Your mother seems… enthusiastic?” 

He huffed in agreement. “She’s been planning this ball all week. I would stay out of her way today if I were you.” 

“Malfoy.” Hermione asked hesitantly, frowning at the sight of Narcissa storming back inside the Manor. “What does your father think about—about _everything_?” 

“I – I don’t know. I stopped visiting him a while ago.” Draco answered flatly, his previous mirth completely gone. “My father, he… he would have had a line-up of muggles for me to kill had he not been imprisoned by the time we realised the curse was still in effect.” 

“And your mother, she didn’t agree with his reasoning?” 

“No. She did.” He answered with a hollow voice; with shame. “She tried to accept that I wouldn’t change my mind about killing anyone. But when it became clear that no muggleborns would help me… let’s just say that I’m not surprised she approached you in the end. There were… many arguments between us.” 

“Your mother wanted you to kill someone if you couldn’t break the curse your own way, didn’t she?” 

“Not exactly. She—she was trying to convince me to take her own life in order to save myself.”

Hermione gaped at him openly, unable to respond. Supressing her reaction, she noted the look of utter sadness in his eyes as he attempted to explain further.

“In those last few weeks, when the attacks were particularly bad, my mother would beg for me to kill her; she was so eager to sacrifice herself for me.” Draco let out a shaky breath before adding. “My mother thought that all I needed was a _willing_ victim, as if _that_ would have made any difference!” 

“When I approached you, the day that I signed the marriage proposal contract, is that why you were avoiding her?” The cautious expression on her face made it clear that she already knew the answer. However, observing the way his jaw tightened at her question, Hermione realised that Draco was reluctant to continue.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to—”

“I need to explain.” He interrupted sharply, then his voice became quiet once more. “You deserve to know.” 

A heavy silence lingered between them before he spoke.

“My mother… grew worse… when it… when it became clear that you wouldn’t help me—not that I wanted your help either!” Draco ran a hand through his hair, messing up the previous slicked back style as he fell prey to his thoughts for a few tense seconds. “I was prepared to die; It was something I had made peace with over the years. But when my mother… when she… well, I had no choice but to approach you at the conference. I knew you would be there. I just—I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. How different would killing someone be, compared to taking your whole life away from you?” 

“You’re wrong.” Hermione smiled sadly at the thought of him fleeing the conference that day. “You haven’t taken my life away. We made a deal remember. This was what I wanted.” 

“It’s the only reason I agreed.” Draco nodded stiffly. “You once asked me why I never approached you. It wasn’t—it wasn’t because I _doubted_ you, it was because I knew you would be the one person who would agree. And that was the last thing I wanted... I’m not particularly fond of you—no offense, Granger. But after witnessing my aunt…” Clearing his throat, he lowered his head, unable to look her in the eye. “You had suffered enough because of Voldemort.” 

Hermione had not been expecting such honesty from Draco. Not only had he refused to kill anyone to save himself—despite the insistence of both his parents—he felt pity, or even remorse, towards what his own family had done to her during the war. His act of showing her the Manor's foundations now seemed more sincere than she had originally thought...

“You’ve suffered enough too.” 

He scoffed at her statement, still refusing to look at her, but Hermione could see the way his hands clenched at her words. 

“Besides.” She added, wanting to ease the darkened mood which had marred their otherwise peaceful morning. “You’re stuck with me forever. I think you’re going to be considerably more miserable than I’ll ever be.” 

“Hah!” Draco let out a bark of laughter, his mouth curving a little. “Wait until tonight; I’m sure you’ll change your mind about _that_. My mother has taken liberty to invite all her… _acquaintances_.” 

* * *

  
Hermione trailed her fingers over the large diamonds around her neck. Earlier that afternoon, Narcissa had demanded she wear one of the few Malfoy heirlooms that wouldn’t harm her. Having witnessed Narcissa’s aggravated reactions to everything that hadn’t met the witch’s approval all day, the necklace now sat comfortably against Hermione’s skin. 

Remembering Draco’s words from earlier, Hermione had pulled her hair back into an intricate knot at the nape of her neck: allowing for this obnoxious display of wealth to be in full view. Every witch and wizard in attendance tonight would immediately know that she was part of the Malfoy family—besides from the rather obvious fact that it was a ball held in honour of hers and Draco’s… _nuptials_. Nonetheless, impressions were apparently everything and no one within her vicinity would be given the chance to overlook her tonight. 

Standing before the full-length mirror in her room, Hermione could scarcely believe the transformation in her appearance. After having spent two hours getting ready, she had finally donned her new ballgown.

The silver dress complemented her complexion wonderfully, though, she couldn’t help but think that it was wrong of her to wear it. It was not that she didn’t appreciate the new dress; it was magnificent. Beyond magnificent. Hermione was simply not used to such finery. The Yule Ball back in fourth year had been the closest she had ever come to anything this resplendent. Even the many Ministry galas and functions had called for nothing more than formal robes or plainer, simpler dresses.

Her hands grasped the sides of the ballgown as she ran her fingers through the shimmering material. The many layers of silk were draped with soft tulle that shone with the iridescent reflections of thousands of tiny crystals. The dress itself was weightless: charmed to sway gracefully with her every movement, despite the weight of the many layers. 

_Narcissa truly did have exquisite taste,_ Hermione conceded as she continued to stare at her reflection in the mirror, unable to help the smile that slowly lit up across her face. 

She felt… elegant. Beautiful. Something Hermione never thought herself as being. Her work had always taken a clear precedent over anything else in her life, including thoughts of what she wore or how she appeared. There were decidedly more serious issues in the world, than how she dressed or styled her hair. An hour spent every morning trying to fix her appearance, would be an hour wasted that she could have put to better use.

At six-o’clock precisely, Draco appeared at her door for the second time that day. Dressed in formal, black wizarding robes, he seemed far more relaxed at the prospect of the ball than she did. But then, this wasn’t his first proper ball. Unlike her, he had probably been to countless events just as sophisticated as this one was proving to be. 

“You’re still alive.” He smirked, his eyes lingering over the necklace as they walked down the hallway. 

“Unfortunately.” 

Hermione’s breath hitched as they turned a corner, the drifting sounds of music and the faint sounds of a gathering crowd had grown louder. Stopping suddenly, she almost panicked and turned the other way. 

“You have to do this, Granger. Don’t forget that everyone here has to see how… _in love_ we are. There cannot be any questions.”

“I know how important tonight is.” She snapped. “I know I have to make a good impression. It’s just so… _daunting_.” 

“I’ll help you were I can, but tonight is down to you. You’ll be on your own for the majority of it. Do you remember what I told you?” 

“Speak only to the wives, husbands and family members of those on the Wizangamot. Don’t approach the Wizangamot members, let them approach me. Don’t bring up anything political. Listen, don’t talk.” Hermione recounted monotonously with a fake smile. “Dazzle them with my charm.” 

“ _Charm_?” Draco snorted, raising his brow at her mockingly. “You must be talking about a spell; for a moment there, I thought you meant your personality.” 

“I’m thinking of many spells right now that I would be more than happy to demonstrate for you.” 

“We shall see who the _charming_ one is tonight.” Draco’s smirk turned smug as they proceeded down the hallway once more. “Though, it’s hardly fair considering that I’m _naturally irresistible_.” 

“Well.” She replied sharply, meeting his all too confident expression. “May the best witch or wizard win.” 

Entering the ballroom at Draco’s side, being careful to maintain at least a foot between them, Hermione could only gape at the sight before her.

The ballroom had transformed entirely. The large chandeliers had been fully lit up, bathing the extravagant scene before her in a brilliant light. A small orchestral band had been set up in the corner, though, Hermione was surprised to see that it was merely a lone wizard conducting each instrument with his wand. The doors leading out into the gardens had all been left wide open, inviting the cool air of the night into the ballroom whilst simultaneously allowing for a quiet reprieve away from the festivities.

It truly was a splendid sight. 

Lady Malfoy herself was beaming tonight. Standing near the entrance to the ballroom, Narcissa greeted the arriving guests with a gracious smile, lavishing in the attention as each guest congratulated her on pulling off such a wonderous event. 

_Draco had been right,_ Hermione mused, observing the way Narcissa puffed up under the praise of an older witch. _This whole ball served solely as a chance for Lady Malfoy to show off._

“My darling!” Narcissa exclaimed in an eerily cheerful voice upon noticing Draco and Hermione. Gliding over and linking her arm through Draco’s own, Narcissa tugged him forward to stand near the entrance with her. “You must help me greet the guests.” 

Hermione pursed her lips, trying not to laugh at his indignant expression. “Don’t forget to _charm_ them.” She quipped, slipping away before he could react.

Many witches and wizards, dressed to the finest, were already mingling within the ballroom. With flutes of champagne in hand, they milled around in small groups, their voices blurring into a hum against the lilting music. 

Grabbing a flute of champagne from one of the many floating trays, Hermione retreated to the far side of the ballroom, waiting patiently for her friends to arrive. 

* * *

  
The ballroom flourished with extravagantly dressed witches and wizards. Dresses of every colour, jewels of every size, and robes of every style, were all on display tonight. The large dancefloor had long since been occupied by many twirling couples. Throngs of spectators lined the sides of the ballroom, watching the dancers or intermingling amongst themselves. 

Hermione stood admiring the intricate dance-steps from where she stood, smiling when the dance called for the witches to be spun high in the air. The watching crowds buzzed with delighted approval when their feet landed on the ground once more, the couples all moving seamlessly into the next steps. Ballroom dancing in the magical world truly was something else… 

Having already greeted many witches and wizards whom she had known from Hogwarts, or whom she worked with at the Ministry, it wasn’t long before a thin faced, middle-aged witch approached her. Noticing the array of feathers that had been used to decorate the witch’s hair, Hermione forced a polite smile. 

_Pureblood._

“I see you are wearing Hertha Malfoy’s jewels this evening.” The witch sniffed pointedly as she scrutinised Hermione. 

_Definitely a pureblood._

“I assume you’re the muggleborn who gave cause for such a celebration?” 

“I am.” she replied, realising that the witch hadn’t bothered to introduce herself in return. 

“You are fortunate indeed to have caught the attention of such a noble family. A muggleborn witch marrying a Malfoy; I’d never have believed such an outlandish notion before tonight... Indeed, he must be very much in love with you.”

“Very much so.” Hermione concealed the lie with a laugh, sipping her champagne to avoid answering further.

Thankfully, a noticeable flash of red-hair had caught the corner of her eye. Politely excusing herself, her heart thudded with excitement as her feet carried her towards the sight of her friends. Weaving through the crowds, she only allowed time for slight smiles of acknowledgement as she sought out the huddled group of Weasleys who had just entered the ballroom. 

As Hermione neared, the Weasleys all turned towards her, smiling brightly. 

Arthur Weasley stood proudly next to his wife—who appeared to be wearing what looked like many doilies sewn together in the shape of a dress—whilst most of the Weasley clan stood behind them. Having excitedly greeted Mr. Weasley, George and Percy—who informed her that he was under strict instructions to watch over George tonight—Hermione found herself in front of Molly Weasley.

“Oh, you look beautiful!” Mrs. Weasley sobbed, her hands grasping Hermione’s shoulders before pulling her in for a tight, warm hug. 

Hermione returned the witches embrace happily.

“So brave.” Pride laced through Molly Weasley’s otherwise choked voice. “It’s not what I had hoped for you, but I know your reasons… I am _proud_ of you.” Relinquishing her hold, Mrs. Weasley took Hermione’s hands within her own as she squeezed them tightly, both their gazes now glistening with tears. 

When Hermione was unable to remedy her parents’ memories after the war, Molly Weasley had embraced Hermione as one of her own—even more so than before. Thus, Mrs. Weasley’s words meant just as much to Hermione, than as if her own mother had said them.

“Mum.” Ron whined. “You promised you wouldn’t cry.” 

Molly Weasley bobbed her head whilst stepping away from Hermione, only to be replaced by Ron, who immediately enveloped her in an equally tight hug—completely oblivious to the disapproving glances of the many guests around them. 

“Blimey Mione!” Ron snorted, stepping back to look at her. “I forget how nice you clean up.” 

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” She smacked his arm playfully as they both laughed. “It’s really good to see you, Ron” 

“I’ve missed you too, Mione—Oi! Where’s Harry and Ginny?” Ron suddenly perked up, trying to peer over the heads of the guests around them. “They went through the floo right behind us!”

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley appeared to have already made their way to the dancefloor, leaving Ron staring at the two blank faces of his brothers. George shrugged disinterestedly before nudging Percy’s arm, both of them turning to follow the group of witches George had just seen walking past.

However, it wasn’t long before Ginny Weasley burst through the tightly packed crowd, roughly shoving an affronted looking witch out of her way as she made towards where they stood. Behind her, being pulled by his arm, was a very helpless looking Harry Potter. 

“Every time!” Ginny bemoaned loudly, halting in front of Ron and Hermione. “You can’t take Harry _anywhere_ without being stopped every five seconds. They can see the scar! They don’t have to ask if he really is _THE_ Harry Potter!” 

Harry peered around Ginny, his cheeks rather flushed and his glasses askew. “Hermione!” He breathed out. The guests nearest to them donned scandalised looks once more as he surged forward, wrapping his arms around Hermione in a hug that almost lifted her from the floor. 

“Where is he?” Harry demanded, abruptly dropping Hermione as he surveyed the ballroom with a hardened expression. “Where’s Malfoy? I want to have a word with him!”

“Malfoy wasn’t with his mother by the doors?” 

Harry and Ron shook their heads, both of them now scanning the ballroom intently. It was obvious to Hermione that they had planned this beforehand.

_If her friends were seen confronting Draco..._

“You’re not allowed to say _anything_.” Hermione hissed, narrowing her eyes at their petulant expressions. “You don’t understand, you have to behave tonight. No fights. No arguments. No confronting Malfoy!”

“But Hermione—”

“Tonight, is important. Nearly every high-ranking Ministry official and Wizangamot member—including their families—are in attendance. Malfoy is helping me. You know the reason I’m doing this.”

Harry nodded stiffly, though, his gaze still lingered over the many guests. 

“Fine. But you sound just like Percy, you know.” Ron huffed, crossing his arms defensively. “I swear he was more excited for this ball than anyone.” 

“Harry?” 

“I know. I know. Look, I won’t start anything. But if Malfoy so much as—” 

“If I so much as _what_ , Potter?” 

Hermione felt the colour drain from her face as Draco materialised next to them. Harry and Ron glared at Draco with obvious disdain as he moved towards her—even Ginny looked surprisingly tense. 

In the ensuing silence that followed his arrival, Draco turned to Hermione, pointedly ignoring her present company. “A word, if you will?” He asked evenly, gesturing to the nearest set of doors leading to the garden. 

Irritated that Draco had interrupted them, but not wanting to cause a scene, Hermione shot her friends an apologetic look before making her way towards the doors. Draco followed a few feet behind her, not saying another word as they left the ballroom. Turning away from the large area lit up by the many twinkling trees, and stalking past Narcissa’s ridiculous ice sculptures, she rounded on him as soon as they were out of sight of the many guests. 

“What? You couldn’t leave me with my friends for even one minute? Is this some twisted joke to you?” She snapped. “I thought we had moved past intentionally making one another miserable?” 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Granger. What you do with your friends is the least of my concerns. Though, it is very much the concern of everyone else. What was I _supposed_ to do when half the fucking guests are babbling about how the new Malfoy bride has already been throwing herself all over two young wizards?” 

“I— _what_?” Hermione gaped, taken aback. “But it’s just Harry and Ron. They’re like my brothers. We even lived together in a tent for almost a year, how can people—”

“Do. Not. Mention. That.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed loudly. “They’re unmarried wizards. Potter, in particular, as the heir to a prominent wizarding family, is expected to behave a certain way. Your reckless display gives cause for people to believe that he knows you… _intimately_. You should know this. Half the guests in that damn ballroom are from a time when wizards and witches couldn’t even hold hands with each other in public.” 

As she absorbed his words, Hermione began to feel somewhat stunned and confused. Draco had sought her out to warn her that everyone was watching and assessing her actions. He had even risked confronting her friends, lest she made any further mistakes...

“I understand.”

“Try not to embarrass me or my family any further tonight, I—” Draco swore under his breath as something behind her caught his attention. “Just fucking _perfect_.” He growled out, standing up straighter and raising his chin. 

“Oi, Malfoy!” Ron’s voice sounded. “You can’t just take Hermione away like that!” 

“Deal with your friends, Granger. Or I will.” Draco attempted to leave but his path was instantly blocked by an irate looking Harry. 

“What are you trying to force her to do?” Hermione had never heard Harry sound so angry before. “Why does she look so upset?” 

“I can say what I want. She’s mine now, Potter. Or did you forget?”

“Yours?!” Ron spluttered, his face turning pink as he whipped his wand out. “She’s not _yours_!” 

“Funny, I could have sworn that she signed the Malfoy marriage proposal contract… and now she’s my wife, so if you’ll excuse me.” Draco made to leave again but Harry and Ron refused to let him pass. 

“Careful Malfoy, no one’s here to save you. We both know that you don’t have it in you. Tell me, is it true that you’ve been sending your mother to sort out your problems these days, now that your father is locked away in Azkaban?” 

“Want another scar, Potter?” Draco sounded almost bored as he spoke. “Don’t waste my time. You really think I would be able to _hurt_ her? I know Granger told you everything. Though, evidently, you’re just as idiotic as before. You might have received quite the blow to the head as a child Potter, but try to use that mind of yours next time, will you?” 

“You’re the one who should learn to play _nice_ Malfoy, your new bride is rather fond of me. But I know you have no care for _romance_ , heard that your mother even proposed for you.” 

“Obsessed with my mother, are you? I think you’re just jealous, Potter. See, when my mother chose to save your life, she didn’t get herself blown up like—”

“Enough!” Hermione shrieked, stepping in front of Harry as he made to lunge forward. “Malfoy, Leave!” 

Draco leered at both Harry and Ron as he shoved past them, the three friends watching as he disappeared down the path leading back to the ballroom. 

“Hermione, I’m…” Harry started, his words falling away at the sight of Hermione’s expression. 

“Forget it, Harry. Let’s just—let's try to enjoy the rest of the evening, yes?” 

Both wizards mumbled in agreement, stowing their wands as the three of them left to find Ginny.

* * *

  
By the time Hermione had agreed to be at the Burrow that Sunday, the four Gryffindors were happily laughing once more. Careful not to mention anything about Malfoy again, they had each taken turns to catch Hermione up on everything she had missed. 

The familiar comfort of her friends had proven to be an even greater comfort than she had imagined. Their warm smiles and loving, caring interactions, had uplifted her spirits and soothed her heart. Her friends were the closest thing to a family that she had, and their presence tonight made the Manor feel more like a home in that moment, than it had all week. 

After much talking and reminiscing, Ginny had spotted a few professional quidditch players who she knew, and Harry had followed her when she bounded off to say hello. It wasn’t long before Ron’s attention became similarly distracted. With a parting remark of _‘bloody hell,_ ’ Ron had disappeared after a floating tray, stacked with a selection of hors d’oeuvres. Unsurpringsly, she had espied him recently, standing with George on the opposite side of the ballroom, the two of them looking particularly mischievous as they huddled over a handful of pastries. 

Having parted from her friends, Hermione moved through the crowd, happily conversing with those whom she knew from Hogwarts or with those whom she worked with at the Ministry. Remembering that for her, this ball was all about ' _making a good impression'_ on the majority of the influential guests here tonight, Hermione had tried her best to remain polite, unopinionated and _‘charming_.’ However, there were at least four-hundred guests in attendance, and she barely knew even half of them by name. 

Oddly enough, the innumerable guests were not even an issue; she could handle the task of co-ordinating the many witches and wizards. The main hindrance to her evening—the main distraction—had proven to be the acts of merely one wizard.

Throughout the evening, Hermione could feel through their bond whenever Draco was nearby, though, she hadn’t spoken to him since the altercation in the gardens. She had often glimpsed him across the ballroom, talking to a few of his Slytherin friends: Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass, and a few others whom she didn’t recognise. She had even watched him dance with a rather beautiful, brunette witch—who looked far too pleased to be in his arms...

_And he had said that she was behaving inappropriately?_

Watching him interact with his friends, Hermione couldn’t help but sense his happiness through the innate connection between them. However, she made a point not to stare at him as the evening progressed. Too often had she found herself gazing at him from afar, her mind turning from those who were talking to her as she subconsciously sought his presence. 

It had not taken long for him to notice. Whether his own gaze had been seeking her too, she wouldn’t know, but Draco had looked up from his conversation with Theo Nott, to glance ever so briefly in her direction. Their eyes had met for the shortest of moments; it was barely noticeable. Though, Hermione knew that he had acknowledged her. With a slight curve of his mouth and an amused gleam in his eye, Draco Malfoy had caught her staring.

_Arrogant Wizard..._

Growing tired of the numerous, repetitive and overly polite interactions with the guests, Hermione had taken to watching the dancing once more. With a flute of expensive champagne in hand, and her mind finally at ease, she found herself enjoying the hilarious sight before her.

Much to her amusement, Ginny had somehow convinced Harry to dance. With no sense of rhythm and no knowledge of the dance-steps, the two of them were apparently just as terrible as the other when it came to any form of co-ordination that didn't involve a broom. Watching Harry and Ginny twirl around the dancefloor, their laughter spilling freely as they stepped on one another’s feet or spun into another couple, for a moment, she envied their happiness. 

“If it isn’t Hermione Granger.” A smooth voice sounded next to her. Turning her head, she was met with the sight of a strikingly handsome wizard. 

“Mr. Zabini.” She greeted politely. 

“Call me Blaise, please.” Holding her gaze, Blaise lifted her free hand before gently brushing his lips over the back of it. “I am certain we shall be seeing a lot of one another.” 

Hermione blushed slightly as she pulled her hand away. With her eyes flickering back to the dancefloor, she tried to avoid his intense stare; she couldn’t quite place it, but even Blaise's smile made her feel uncomfortable.

“Ah, I was too late... it appears that you are needed.” Blaise chuckled beside her. “I’ll be seeing you around.” He added with a wink before disappearing. 

_She was needed? What in Merlin’s name?_

“What did Zabini say to you?” Draco’s voice sounded, startling her from her thoughts. 

“Malfoy—arghh.” Hermione hadn’t realised how close he was to her. Turning immediately towards the sound of his voice, she almost spilt her champagne as she bumped right into him. Instinctively, Hermione reached out with her hand to steady herself, not realising that she had grabbed his arm until she heard the soft gasp that fell from his lips.

Yanking her hand away, their expressions were equally horrified as they stared at one another in shock. With her heart beating wildly against her chest, Hermione held her breath as… as… neither of them reacted? 

She could feel a distinct rush of warmth coursing through her body; the same, magnetic impulse lingered after their touch. But it was bearable. The overwhelming pull of the bond had been lessening as they spent more and more time together, though, she hadn’t realised that it had calmed so significantly already.

“That was foolish.” He regarded her with mild disappointment. 

“You’re the one that snuck up on me!” 

Draco didn’t bother to reply; he wasn’t even paying attention to her anymore. The current dance was ending and the melodious transition of a new song could be heard. His eyes swept across the dancefloor with a calculating look before he seemed to come to a decision. Moving in front of Hermione, he swept into a short bow whilst extending his hand out to her in an elegant, fluid motion. 

“Take my hand.” 

“What?” 

“Everyone is watching.” Draco whispered sharply. “Take it, now!”

Hermione placed her hand in Draco’s own, numbly following him as he led her towards the centre of the dancefloor. She could feel the watchful gazes of nearly everyone in the ballroom as they took their place amongst the many couples readying themselves for the next dance.

“I can’t do this.” She breathed nervously as Draco placed his other hand on her waist, narrowing the gap between them with a single step. 

“Impressions, remember.” Noticing her frightened expression, he lowered his voice. “This is the surest way to make a statement.”

“I – I don’t know the steps to these dances.” 

“What _do_ you know?” 

She flinched as the music started and tried to move her hand from his grasp, but he simply moved his other hand from her waist to the small of her back and pulled her closer towards him.

“Relax. It’s only a waltz.” Draco leant forward so that his words brushed against her cheek, too quiet for anyone around them to hear. “You can’t be worse than Potter.” 

Hermione’s nerves wrapped around her as Draco looked at her imploringly; he was asking her for permission to continue. Nodding subtly, she instantly found herself being swept into an intricate turn. 

Draco’s movements were easy to follow and Hermione soon found herself smiling despite her previous worries. Admittably, the enchanting music and the feel of her ballgown swirling around her, added to her mounting enjoyment. Hermione wasn’t a good dancer, but Draco Malfoy certainly was; he led her well. Each movement flowed more seamlessly into the next as Hermione’s confidence grew more and more. 

She was lost to the feel of her hand within his own, the connection between singing louder than the music spurring their every step. Something within her gave way to the moment as she stared back at him with the same fire that still ignited beneath their touch. Twirling them smoothly around the dancefloor, Draco held her heated gaze as each graceful turn brought them closer together than the last: their bodies instinctively narrowing the distance between them whenever he spun her away from him, needing to be closer after every second apart. 

How long they danced, she could not say. The music and the very ballroom itself seemed to melt away as they physically reconnected for the first time since the ritual. The bond had calmed, but the prolonged contact between them was proving irresistible. Inching ever closer, her lips parted as he leant forward. She wanted this. She needed this.

“Malfoy.” She breathed his name like a caress between them. 

Unfortunately, uttering his name seemed to have the opposite effect to what she had intended. The lull between them broke as Draco suddenly jerked away from her, his eyes widening as he looked around the ballroom in shock.

_“Shit!”_

Hermione blinked up at him dazedly, her feet stumbling slightly as he yanked her into the final turns of the dance. His once graceful movements were now tense and difficult to follow, though, he had somehow managed to recover their steps to the correct timing, despite their previous setback. Thanks to his skilled movements, most of the guests probably hadn't noticed anything amiss. But it was all for show. She could still feel his hand flexing awkwardly beneath her own—both of them were just as uncomfortable in that moment as the other. Counting each prolonged second in her head, relief flooded through her as the music faded with the final steps of the dance. 

It was over. 

Though, their public blunder had been alarmingly close... 

How many people had noticed the longing between them? Glancing briefly at the surrounding revellers, Hermione’s gaze fell upon Harry, Ginny and Ron. Her friends were standing on the opposite side of the dancefloor, their equally shocked and confused expressions staring straight back at her.

_Maybe, she should have told them about the ‘pretending to be in love thing?’ She would need to confront them before they came to the wrong conclusion…_

Draco stepped away from her, dropping her hand as his own gaze swept across the many watchful guests, similarly looking for any reactions. With a tense nod, he offered her his arm, silently commanding her to take it. 

Accepting Draco’s proffered arm, Hermione attempted to keep her back straight and her head held high as they walked off the dancefloor - it definitely felt more like an escape. She could still sense the watchful gazes of almost everyone around them, and she longed to be concealed amidst the crowd once more. 

The next dance began behind them as Draco led her through the crowds, her hand tucked neatly in the crook of his arm for all to see. Barely a few minutes had passed when Hermione noticed Draco stiffen beside her. Lifting her anxious gaze, she was surprised to see a large, old wizard in front of her. With his waist-coat buttons threatening to burst off and his silver, walrus-like moustache, Professor Slughorn stood grinning broadly at them—well, at Hermione. 

“P-professor Slughorn.” She stammered. “I did not expect to see you here this evening.” 

“Nonsense, a spectacle like this? I wouldn’t miss it.” Slughorn chortled, his eyes twinkling as he spoke. “I have an eye for talent, you see; I always like to keep a close watch on my most _promising_ students. I expect I’m looking at the next Minister for Magic, eh? What with your new… _connections_.” 

Slughorn’s gaze settled on Draco who had yet to scarcely breathe in his presence. “Hmm. Yes, interesting choice for a muggleborn witch, if I may say so. Well, not to worry, my boy! We can forget that whole nonsense with the mead, eh? Dare I say, I’ve experienced my fair share of regret over the years…” Slughorn’s throat bobbed before he smiled at Hermione brightly once more. “Interesting choice, yes, yes. I will be sure to keep my eye on you, my dear.” 

Hermione watched Slughorn retreat through the crowd, animatedly boasting about himself, or about those whom he had taught, with great pride to all who would care to listen.

“Come.” Draco breathed out, his expression somewhat pained. “There are many who I still need to introduce you to.” 

Thus, the evening wore on...

He led Hermione through countless introductions and menial conversations. It was clear to her that the majority of the witches and wizards in attendance tonight, were quite put out that Draco had not only married in private, but had chosen a muggleborn witch as a bride too. Nonetheless, none would dare to voice their opinions on the matter besides from the many subtle, disapproving hints. 

To all who met them, it was to be without question that Hermione and Draco had formed a relationship purely out of love. They were to appear a couple: two people relishing in the aftermath of their new union.

And so, they were…

In fact, Draco made a point to introduce Hermione as his wife in front of every guest. Hermione would simply observe curiously as he smiled at every compliment and delighted in every congratulatory statement. He was so convincing, that she almost fainted when he told a group of elderly witches how excited he was to see her features in their future children. Draco seemed to have an annoying aptitude to know both exactly what to say and exactly what everyone wanted to hear.

With every introduction, Hermione realised that Draco had been right about needing to know not only the names, but the relations, interests and backgrounds of all those with even the slightest bit of political influence. Politics, proved to be the furthest thought within their every conversation as he mentioned the obscurest hobby, or inquired after the health of a relative.

“Take an interest in them, and they will take an interest in you.” He informed her discreetly as they politely excused themselves from yet another conversation. 

Continuing through the crowd, they were met with the sight of a rather well-dressed witch and wizard standing but a few feet away from them. Without delay, Draco's previous confidence evaporated as the couple stared straight at him; he appeared almost nervous.

“It’s best I take this one alone.” He offered as an explanation before he strode over and shook the elder wizard’s hand firmly. Watching Draco kiss the witch’s hand formally, Hermione couldn’t help but feel a spark of jealousy. 

_Why did she feel jealous? And more importantly, why had Draco insisted on meeting with them alone?_

The witch was rather beautiful, however, she certainly looked old enough to be Draco’s mother. Between her dark hair and blue eyes, Hermione got the distinct impression that the witch looked strangely familiar. Not that _she_ would know them. They were definitely from an old, pureblood family if Draco had greeted them in such a manner… 

* * *

  
Searching the ballroom for her friends, Hermione wandered aimlessly amidst the mingling guests once more. She had decided to forgo her political goals for the evening whilst Draco interacted with those whom he apparently didn’t want for her to meet. 

_She had saved his life and yet, he still thought she wasn’t good enough to be introduced to that pureblood couple?_ Hermione thought angrily. Even though she knew that their relationship wasn’t normal, and neither of them had any inclination to show one another off beyond their political obligations, she couldn’t shake the stinging feeling of being snubbed by him.

Wandering near the back of the ballroom, Hermione found herself lost in her thoughts, oblivious to the hateful gaze of the wizard approaching her. Placing her empty champagne flute upon the nearest floating tray, she scarcely had time to react as an eerie chill swept through her senses, drawing the corner of her eye to an ominous, dark figure.

“You will find that not even diamonds are able to cover the stench of mud.” 

Hermione balked at the sound of the wizard’s deep voice; she knew that voice. Before she could think of what to do, Sebastian Nott stepped directly into her sight, grabbing her arm as she made to turn away from him.

“Try not to cause a scene, _girl_.” His beady eyes roamed over the surrounding guests as he spoke, subtly reminding her that they were being watched. “I know your little secret.” 

She stilled immediately at his words. _Surely, he couldn’t know about the soul-bond?_

Mr. Nott’s smile was almost predatory as he met her calculating stare. “Ah yes, your plans for the Ministry are glaringly obvious. I’ve been watching you traipse around all evening in that ridiculous garb. But you’re no more than a filthy rat, spreading your diseased thoughts.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Unhand me at once!” 

“Ah. But you do. In fact, you’ve already proven to be quite the little problem.” Slowly lifting his hand from her arm, he added. “Tread lightly, _girl_. There are many within the Ministry who share my sentiments.” 

Having felt the slight brush of magic, Hermione looked down at her arm, barely containing the horrified gasp that rose up within her; Sebastian Nott had removed her glamour charm. The scarred words etched across her skin were now staring up at her once more: _Mudblood_.

“I look forward to your trial, Mr. Nott.” She spat, ripping her arm away from his lingering gaze. 

“A mudblood like yourself, should have been wise enough to stay away from those who are above her. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

There was a clear, dual meaning to this conversation. Hermione knew all too well that he was referring to both her union with the Malfoy family, and her opposition towards those within high-ranking Ministry positions. 

“I know _exactly_ who I’m dealing with—of what sort of wizard _you_ are. Oh, how very well I know. I know so well, it makes me sick.” 

“Stay away from the Ministry.” His lip twisted into a snarl as he regarded Hermione with a look of distaste. “Or not even the Malfoy name will be able to protect you.” 

Hermione felt a cold rage flare within her, though, before she could realise that the rage was not her own, Draco Malfoy’s arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her behind him. 

Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott were standing on either side of Draco, their darkened gazes fixed firmly on the elder wizard. At the sight of their challenging stances, she noticed that the three young wizards harboured a malice which stemmed beyond anything to do with her. 

“It would do you well not to threaten my wife, Nott.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that most of you wouldn’t have seen the change to the update schedule. But with the length of these current chapters and with Uni starting up again soon... I decided to take a step back and make sure that everything was in order for the next part of this story. 
> 
> Going forward, there will sadly be only one chapter update a week. Its proven impossible for me to keep up with two 6k word chapters every 7 days. Anyways! Chapter updates will be on Saturdays because it falls perfectly into my work/study schedule. 
> 
> Hopefully you enjoyed this chapter, I know there wasn’t much Hermione/friends in this chapter... but that will come soon. For now, I wanted to focus on the building relationship between Draco/Hermione as a result of the bond. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, I would truly love to hear your thoughts. 
> 
> P.s. look out for a Dramione one-shot called ‘The Weapon’ over the next few days. It’s quite long, but it was super fun to write and I think that my father (a paramedic) is somewhat concerned about all my gruesome questions regarding death scenes. So, if you’re not squeamish about blood and like magical dueling... 
> 
> P.p.s Sorry for keeping you waiting so long. 
> 
> All the Kudos to you, 
> 
> Marshmallow x


	13. Chaos is my only friend

Sebastian Nott sneered at Draco openly, his gaze flickering between Hermione and the three young wizards standing before him. 

“Ah, if it isn’t Lord Malfoy. I should have known.” He drawled. “You always were a disappointment.”

“I have no time for your mockery. You know my father still holds that title.” Draco replied evenly. “Why are you here?” 

“Forgive me, I was not aware he remained as the Head of your House whilst locked away. Tell me, when does he return? I understand he is to be released soon, and I so long to speak with him. I’m sure he and I would agree on much these days.” 

“Cut the crap, Nott.” Blaise bit out, moving closer to Draco who appeared somewhat paler.

Nott jabbed his finger at Hermione, who took a step backwards. “You have dirtied your House, boy.” his nostrils flared as he added. “You dare to stain all that your ancestors have built?” 

“Your presence alone is the only filth I see.” Draco seemed to have regained his confidence upon hearing Nott’s insult towards Hermione. “Come near my family again, and I will make sure you rue the day you so much as dared to breathe near me.”

“And what can _you_ do?” 

“We both know that I can ruin you.” At length, he added. “More so than I already have.” 

Hermione noted that Draco’s calm demeanour remained unchanged. To any onlookers, the argument would appear as no more than a tense discussion. Though, she could feel his unease through the bond.

_Something was wrong._

“Malfoy.” Said Theo, his tone wary. “If you’re speaking of Nott Industries…”

“I’m not.”

Sebastian Nott let out a deep, guttural laugh. “No, you wouldn’t dare to, would you? You’re too soft. Didn’t like that your friend was overlooked, and now you set your little mockery of a witch against me. Your threats mean nothing to me.”

“Threats?” Draco shot him a vicious smirk. “My father taught me better than that. You are mistaken to think that he would side against his only heir. Although, you are correct in assuming that you would have much to talk about. My father does take a personal interest in any slights made towards his House.” 

“We shall see.” Sebastian Nott seemed hesitant in his approach for the first time that evening. “As I told your little... _wife_. You should have considered the consequences when you chose to ridicule me before the Ministry.” 

“And what makes you think that I didn’t?” 

Hermione’s eyes widened as Nott’s attention turned to her, though, before she could react, Draco stepped in front of her again.

“She has nothing to do with this.” Draco said. “Your quarrel is with the three of us alone.” 

Blaise and Theo stepped forward too, preventing her from peering around Draco as she had done previously. She could hear Nott’s guttural laughter and so wanted to say something, though, she knew that this was not her fight. _Not for now, at least, s_ he thought.

“Ah, on the contrary. You’re the one who brought her into this, and I am very much aware of what she plans to do henceforward.” 

“An oversight, I’ll admit.” Draco replied coldly. “But know that by targeting her, you force my involvement further.” 

"Be careful, young Malfoy. It may be true that your _noble_ House is well regarded within the Ministry. However, many would agree that there are those amongst your family who are… expendable.” 

She startled as Theo, Blaise and Draco withdrew their wands at his statement. Though, they kept their wands at their sides in an effort to maintain appearances. 

“Leave.” Draco seethed, glowering at Nott who refused to waver. “I said, Leave. Now!”

Sebastian Nott sneered at the three wizards in front him once more, then, with a sound of disgust, he turned away from them, brushing past the other guests roughly before disappearing amidst the crowd.

Hermione caught sight of Draco’s subtle nod to both Theo and Blaise who immediately turned to follow the offending wizard. She could only presume that they were making sure Mr. Nott actually left the Manor. 

“You need to come with me.” Draco grabbed her arm as he led her towards the gardens, though, he was considerably more forceful than he had been earlier. She could feel the anger teeming within him, and for the first time since the ritual, Hermione felt reluctant to be near him. 

The cool, night air was a pleasant welcome to her anxious state. There were many guests walking amongst the gardens this time, and a few of them stopped to share amused looks at the sight of Draco hastily leading Hermione away from the ballroom. 

She could only blush and look away, as they passed by them. However, she soon realised that Draco was taking her not to the gardens, but around the side of the Manor. Stopping before a wall which appeared to be made up of large panels of glass, he opened a concealed door and ushered her inside. 

Looking around the dimly lit structure, illuminated only by the waxing moonlight filtering through the glass ceiling, she realised that it was a small greenhouse attached to the side of the Manor. Trailing her hand along one of the many rows of plants, the leaves tickled her fingers as she looked around in wonder. Though, before she could utter any of her thoughts aloud, the sound of long-closed door hinges creaking in protest, demanded her attention. 

“Come on, Granger.” Draco chastised, standing before an old and very clearly unused door on the far side of the greenhouse. 

Hermione furrowed her brow but acquiesced, nonetheless. She figured that it was obviously something important if he was being _this_ insistent. 

They were back within the Manor now, moving through a passageway she had never been down before. The sounds of the ball were growing fainter as they continued, though, she couldn’t see much as the many torches lining the walls hadn’t been lit. No longer being pulled by her arm, she easily fell into step behind him, their footsteps sounding lightly against the floor, muffled by the gentle swishing of her ballgown.

“What is going on?” She was more confused than angry.

“I had to get you out of there.” Draco’s voice was still cold as he spoke. “We don’t know who Nott is working with, or if he had anything further planned for tonight.” 

“That’s ridiculous, there’s so many people. What could he do to me?”

Draco ignored her as they came to a stop in front of yet another door. With an irritated glare in her direction when she began to protest, he pushed against the wooden panel, stepping through into the brightly lit hallway that opened up before them on the other side. Following silently, Hermione blinked at the sudden transition of light. With a sharp click, the door closed behind her, though, it wasn’t a door, she realised; a large painting of a tree with continuously falling leaves, concealed the entrance to the passage they had just emerged from. 

“What is—”

“It’s not safe to talk here, not at this moment.” He cut her off, glancing down the hallway before continuing.

Focused only only keeping up with his every step, Hermione was so lost in her confused thoughts, that she failed to notice where they were headed. Passing a familiar portrait, she looked up just in time as Draco barged directly through the entrance to her own quarters. 

“Malfoy!” She shrieked, but Draco merely grabbed her arm and pulled her inside the room, covering her mouth with his hand as he kicked the door closed behind them. 

“Someone followed us from the ballroom. They’re walking around the Manor.” He whispered sharply, his hand dropping from her mouth as he stepped away from her. “I can sense them through the familial magic...”

“It could be one of my friends?” 

Draco shook his head. “It’s not a magical signature I recognise.” 

Hermione’s gaze turned warily towards the entrance to her room. Raising her wand, she cast a warding charm just to be certain.

“Has Nott ever approached you before this evening?” Draco asked as soon as she completed the wand movement. 

“No.”

“And no one has said anything to you about the conference—about Nott Industries?” 

“Nothing that stands out as being unusual.” 

She watched as he paced irritably in front of her, muttering to himself. 

“What have you not told me?” Hermione did not like this. “You and Sebastian Nott… At the conference, and now tonight… There’s something you’re not telling me. Theo stood against his own uncle tonight. I don’t understand...” 

“You don’t _need_ to understand.” 

“I was the one threatened by him!” Hermione had to bite back her annoyance.

Draco gave her a long look. “Nothing is going to happen to you.” 

“Well, your reaction tonight makes me believe otherwise!” 

“Sebastian Nott won’t come near you.” 

“Why?” She pried. “Because you _challenged_ him? Threatened him with your family name? You’re so confident and yet, there wouldn't even be a Malfoy name in a few years, if it weren’t for me.” 

“Nott doesn’t know that, and neither must the rest!” He continued to pace in front of her. “They still respect my name; they still fear the wizard my father was. But the wizard I am…” Draco steeled himself. “The less you know, the better.” 

“Oh, so is this how it’s going to be? You’re going to exclude me from everything you deem too much for me?” She bristled. “What? Am I just some lowly muggleborn incapable of handling such knowledge?” 

He stopped and turned to fix her with an incredulous stare. “Are you serious, Granger?” 

“First, you excluded me from speaking to that pureblood couple, and now, you won’t say a word about this whole business with Nott!” 

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.” Draco’s anger gave way to laughter as he realised what she was upset about. “I wasn’t excluding you. But by all means, next time I will be sure to introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass. I’m sure they would be delighted to meet the muggleborn witch I chose to bind myself to over their pureblood daughter.”

“Wait, you're saying that you were _betrothed_ to their daughter?” 

He shrugged. “It was more of a spoken agreement…”

“Should I be worried?” 

Draco tried to hide his amusement but failed. “No, I danced with Astoria. She’ll be fine. No one will assume she was unworthy of such a match.” 

Nodding robotically, Hermione sank down on the edge of her bed, the many layers of her dress billowing around her as she sat staring at Draco with a worried look. 

“Why is Mr. Nott such a threat?” 

“You could say that he has many… acquaintances… within the Ministry.” He replied, drawing the curtains closed as he moved past each window. “Our union has made them… nervous.”

“I know that already.” She grumbled. “Stop skirting around my questions!”

“What you’re wanting to know, I cannot tell you.” 

“It’s to do with Theo, Isn’t it?” 

“It is.” He returned his gaze to her. 

“So, many of the Ministry officials.” She repeated, deciding to try another route. “They’re ‘ _nervous._ ’ They think I’m going to _destroy_ the magical world as they know it?” 

“Aren’t you?” 

“No. I respect wizarding culture. I don’t plan on enforcing my own ideals upon others; I would be no better than those I condemn for doing the same. It’s only the unnatural and unfounded hatred towards muggles, and all those considered as _lesser_ beings, that I have a true issue with.” 

“You are aware that muggles have persecuted witches and wizards for a lot longer than we have given any thought to our own retaliation.”

“It’s not that simple.” She protested. “The Ministry holds a prejudice against those who have magic but are from the muggle world. They oppress magical creatures and sentient beings, restricting and enforcing laws that are created and maintained in the interest of wizarding kind alone…” 

“I get it, Granger. You don’t have to lecture me about being subjected to another’s control.” He sighed. “Look, don’t bother with Nott. He’s not going to be an issue. He’s facing a Wizangamot trial soon, and you can even sit front and centre in the ‘Malfoy family seat’ if you want to.” 

She looked at him uncertainly. “You can’t bribe me.”

“What if I told you that you would get to vote?” He moved to sit next to her, ignoring her flustered reaction towards them sitting so close to one another on her bed.

“If Nott isn’t sentenced.” She relented to his offer. “You will owe me a full disclosure.” 

Draco nodded as if he were considering her terms. “It won’t come to that.” He lowered his head. “None of this would have happened if I had intervened sooner. I’m sorry for getting you involved with Nott.” He let out an angry huff of air. “This shouldn’t have happened.” 

Hermione was stumped. His words made her breath catch and she wasn’t sure why... _He would have intervened_ , she thought, her mind reeling. _He would have prevented Nott’s harsh words if he could have… why was she feeling so troubled by this?_

“I’m sorry.” The apology fell from her softly.

His voice was listless in reply. “It’s not your fault. As I said, the blame is my own... I would have warned you when he arrived, but I didn’t think Nott would dare to approach you.” 

“No, I’m… I’m sorry for not saying anything earlier… when my friends.” She hesitated, trying to find the right words. “What Harry and Ron said to you, when you were only trying to help...” Hermione took a deep breath. “I should have stopped them. It wasn’t fair.”

Draco didn’t so much as blink. “Your life was just threatened, and you’re worried about what your friends did?” 

“I’m trying to amend what Harry and Ron did tonight, they should never have—”

“I don’t care.” 

“I care.” She rebutted sternly. “And I’m sorry.” 

“It doesn’t matter. I never expected you to stand between your friends and myself.” He smiled weakly. “Old habits die hard, right?” 

Hermione regarded Draco solemnly. He truly did seem unconcerned with what Harry and Ron had said. He didn’t think that she would be able to stand up for him against her friends either.

 _And she hadn’t,_ she thought, feeling ashamed.

“You were great tonight,” she offered, trying to assuage her previous apathy. “I’ve never seen so many elderly witches blushing before.” 

“I told you, I’m naturally irresistible.” 

Hermione scoffed, but gave a small smile in return. “And yet, I’m the one you haven’t been able to stay away from since the ritual.” 

Draco appeared taken aback by her statement, but recovered quickly, only to glare at her disapprovingly. “Very tactful, Granger.” 

“I thought so.”

“You also thought I wouldn’t notice you ogling me all night.” 

“I was not ogling you!” She winced at his knowing look. “Maybe I was... but I couldn’t help it!” 

“We underestimated the bond, didn’t we? It’s no wonder people don’t bother with them anymore.”

“Some would say it’s romantic.” She laughed at his perplexed expression; he didn’t seem amused in the slightest. “I guess you didn’t focus much on what would happen after the ritual, did you?”

“It’s not funny!” His voice turned low with embarrassment as he continued. “I almost… we almost… in front of everyone.”

“It was _your_ idea to dance.” 

“Well, if you hadn’t been hanging all over _your_ two blithering friends beforehand, I wouldn’t have had to ask you.” 

Hermione felt saddened by his words; she had noticed the odd edge to his voice as he spoke. _Maybe, he had been offended after all?_ Even she had felt pangs of jealousy at the sight of him with other witches tonight… She couldn’t help but think that Draco hadn’t been entirely truthful when he had said that he didn’t care.

_She needed to say something…_

“It’s a not a choice, you know, between you and my friends.” She admitted, covering his hand with her own and smiling at the warm feeling that emerged from the contact. “We’re friends now too, aren’t we?” 

“ _Friends_?” Draco narrowed his eyes at the sight of her hand covering his own. Shifting slightly, he met her expectant gaze. “We aren’t.”

“You looked out for me tonight; You defended me even. You helped me against Sebastian Nott… again.” 

“And _again_ , it was for my own reasons.” 

“Maybe.” She sighed. “But it still counts.” 

“How does it count? Why are you even keeping count of my actions?” He pulled his hand away, flexing his fingers as if her were trying to rid himself of the lingering effects of her touch. “I’ve been spending too much time around you. Your ridiculous Gryffindor notions are starting to influence me if the way I act has given you reason to think that I’m your friend.” 

“You have changed though. Especially since the ritual.”

“I’ve only been trying to help you adjust. I know it hasn’t been easy for you. I wanted you to be happy here, despite my…” Draco’s cheeks reddened as he looked away with a grimace. “Look, I don’t hate you. If that’s what you’re trying to say.” 

Hermione laughed again, amused by his adamant dismissal. He had been strangely helpful and pleasant enough since the ritual, and tonight had cemented just how much he had changed towards her already.

“Admit it, after everything...” She paused thoughtfully. “We are friends.”

“No. That’s not what I meant.”

“You always carry my books from the library to my room for me.” Draco balked at her words, but she continued. “I helped you charm the practice snitches to increase in speed every time you caught one of them. You showed me which knife to use at dinner the other night. You—”

“Fine! I’ll admit it.” He snapped, running his hand through his hair in his usual show of frustration. “Just stop listing everything like that. Merlin’s balls, you’re annoying.” 

“Mmhm.” She grinned triumphantly. “I’m glad to be your friend, Malfoy.” 

He rolled his eyes at her excitement. “Whatever you say, Granger.” 

“I say I’m done with tonight.” 

“I couldn’t agree more.” 

“Is it safe?” She asked sombrely. Her nerves were growing again at the thought of someone lurking in the hallways; the Manor was unsettling enough as is. “I don’t need to sleep with my wand under my pillow?” 

Draco frowned as he noticed her nervous state. “I know you didn’t believe me, but you’re safe here.” He looked towards her door. “Whoever it was, is gone now. Regardless, I will be awake, and I will know if anyone comes near your quarters...” 

“But the guests are already leaving, aren’t they?” She was confused. “Surely, you don’t have to keep watch?”

“I’m not keeping watch.” He gave a resigned sigh. “We lowered the boundary wards for the ball. Mother isn’t technically a Malfoy so, reinforcing the wards again and making sure no unwelcome stragglers remain, well…” 

“You’re not going to sleep much tonight, are you?” 

He chuckled under his breath in leu of an answer. “You fared well this evening… mostly.” Standing up, Draco made to leave, his hand clasping around the doorknob as she bid him goodnight in return. “Get some sleep, Granger.” He said, hovering in the entryway. “You’ll want to get an early start on finally escaping this place tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry!” She called out before he could leave. “For earlier, I really meant it.” 

A prolonged moment went by as they both stared at one another across the room, then, with a curt nod, Draco turned away from Hermione once more. As the door closed slowly behind him, she watched the faint stretch of his shadow disappearing down the hallway in the opposite direction of the ballroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update News: (01/01)
> 
> Sorry for the delay!
> 
> I thought I would write a quick message here in case anyone is wondering...
> 
> Chapter 14 will be up soon. I'm still waiting for my friend to read over everything. I've spent the past two weeks writing and finishing chapters 14-18 because they web together... a lot. Thus, I was hesitant to post 14 until I was sure I hadn't left any plot holes.
> 
> Not long now!
> 
> These 5 chapters alone are just under 40k words, so i can’t rush the poor soul I managed to convince to check through it. 
> 
> Thank you for your patience. I promise I will be posting at least 6 chapters this month (minimum). Very excited to share this next part of the story now that it's all done...
> 
> Marshmallow x


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